Choose Yourself

Fate is a silly concept to me It comes in many forms Gods, men, The like. Sometimes it is conscious Vengeful, cruel Sometimes it is simply apathetic Uncaring of our plight Some paint it as inevitable Unbreakable silver shackles To the unruly wolf inside Occasionally it is beatable Through insurmountable suffering. My question is, though, If you were able to beat it, was it ever really fate? Maybe fate was created like religion An outlet for our suffering. It seems to me we do whatever the hell we want Just for it to swoop in and take credit. Our sorrows were foretold in ancient texts Our victories undermined by their unavoidability Maybe fate was made as our excuse A coward's scapegoat for inaction They were not chosen, no They are too afraid to burn-- It was always their only option To hack the logs for another's pyre That blasted, filthy fate. If only they were meant to They might've risen But what is the smell of rotting flesh In the face of such twisted omnipotence? Smells and subtleties might not do much I admit. But if fate was created, Which I believe it was, Then it is only within our right to harness it. Assume you were fated for goodness Even when time disagrees. Be the water to the flame And the moon to the beast Be whatever the hell you want-- That, and that alone, Is the true destiny of humanity.