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Life's game is gamble, many cards are held
close to Fate's heart whose trumpet trumps. The odds
are clearly stacked in favour of the Gods.
Yet Hope provides fresh impetus to meld
energies which, channelled, are beheld
to fire ambitions onwards, upwards - nods
before vainglory sinks beneath the sods
and only phantom memories are spelled
by living ghosts, - who are themselves compelled
to tread too soon same way with weary plods -
the road of No Return. Death's finger prods
recalcitrants, - saints, sinners, equal knelled.
No Joker may be played as panacea,
yet harmony adversity can conquer.
Jonathan ROBIN
| Submitted Date |
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Sunday, October 22, 2006 |
| Submitted Date |
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Tuesday, October 26, 2010 |
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Poets
