Treasure Island

Dilantha Gunawardana


To where all roads lead to
To which all journeys are sculpted
A place where time is of essence
Master and executioner

A voyage armed with the flame of belief
Of a humanitarian god
What is infused to man and his vessel
Where the echo of doubt lies estranged
And feeble cynicism rests alienated

A place of incalculable odds
Yet a wager of man
Like the oak standing tall
On lightning’s path

Fate, the place that lies
Beyond the fogs on the horizon
Of what is sentient
To a sacred untouched place
That rests inside man – his soul

Fate, a crossroad to the impalpable
What rests saddled to chance
Oil to the journey of life
Residue to divine genius
A perennial reminder
That the feet of man
Are tethered to the hand of god

For fate is bread to the soul
Nourishment to the dreamer within

Submitted: Monday, March 17, 2014
Edited: Monday, March 17, 2014

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Topic(s): fate

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A poem on fate

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