She
Helps the helpless,
Enrich the poor,
Humbles the wealthy,
Reaches those unreachable,
And encourages the distraught.

Sometimes abandoned,
She hurts those close to her,
Sometimes driven out:
She drives men to the brink of insanity,
Yet always sought:
No one is every far from her doorsteps.

I want nothing to do with her,
Promising spring in the winter,
Painting across the rain with blue skies,
Offering light to the dark,
So casually,
So remorselessly,
So deceitfully.

She reaches out,
Despite being spited and cursed:
The addiction too strong,
Her presence too intoxicating,
No one ever escapes her,
And like fools, they let her in,
Only to wake up alone again.

Those left to die by Luck,
Those tossed aside by Fortune,
Those refused by Charity and Mercy,
She finds the outcasts,
Fill their heads and hearts with
The drug of her name,
And like she knew they would
They get up again.

I turn from her doorsteps,
My time with her spent,
And she embraces me,
So warmly,
So welcomingly,
So wickedly:
Knowing just as much as I do
That I will seek her once more.