Fate?
It is but that supposed fate,
One thing we don't look through
Because of its supposed importance
Leading us in eternal curfew.
With no stroke of serendipity
It had ferociously painted,
The lives of 'believers'
Who were left, all dainted.
That gentleman with vigour,
Thought himself bound by fate
One which would lie unchanged,
This left him all vitiate.
Who laid this grave stone
With weight of the sky
I am crushed by the thought of introspection
It is without doubt, I.
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