Monday Circles Poem by Tanec Rayl

Serendipity is a sword,
Cleaving from the arm of Fortune,
Turning on your every word.

And turning, telling recondite
A secret waiting on the Moon.
Serendipity is a sword.

Aflame and guarding human Right,
Before the ominous cocoon,
Turning on your every word.

Spinning, radiant through the night,
Yearning for the returning womb.
Serendipity is a sword,

Held up high to bring down daylight,
Igniting all that we presume,
Turning on your every word.

Until we at last cease to fight,
And finding sans the picayune:
Serendipity is a sword,
Turning on your every word.