Cloaked in mystery and an ineffable air,
She bestows favours with comical whimsy,
Providing luck without regard or care,
Her reason notoriously hard to see.
They say she favours the bold,
Is attracted to courage and daring,
But isn't moved by prayers or gold,
Nor begging or swearing.
Sometimes she helps us in our darkest hours,
Sometimes she kicks us when we are face down in the dirt,
Sometimes she turns all that is sweet sour,
Sometimes she soothes our pain and hurt.
Sometimes she guides us home when we've lost our way,
Sometimes she frees us from hopeless stagnation,
Sometimes she beguiles and leads us astray,
Sometimes she robs us of our joy and elation.
Sometimes she whispers temptations only to dance away,
Sometimes she caresses us only to make us numb,
Sometimes she gives us the strength to face a new day,
Sometimes she batters us till we are senseless and dumb.
She is the Blind Beauty of Fickleness,
The Ambivalent Divinity of Luck,
The Capricious Goddess of Justice,
The Impulsive Empress of Treasures and Muck.
Comments about this poem (Fortuna by Bill Bob )
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