Carnegie Hall of Frozen Ebony Music

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

We are still masters of our fate. 

~ Winston S. Churchill

Our lives meander, not knowing what they

Might hear.  This situation is not plain,

But complicated strictly in that way

That blindness stumbles or that deep dark pain

Distracts.  A cobra’s fangs and venom zing

To staggering, so, we can not foresee

Our nights ahead.  A bat might blackly sing

His nightmare motions.  We have no notes’ key

To ebony tomorrows.  We can not

Use fragrances as bloodhounds snuffling go.

Our movements find that they are always fraught

By dimness made of blackest blizzard snow.

  We stand as maestros, no baton, no score,

    The symphony not written yet, no soar.