The Compass Poem by James Provencio

All the stars spelled his name,
In a language only they could imitate.
Some for the North,
And some for the South.
One would lead him home.
The others his true fate.
Then he looked to this one here,
To navigate his ship through fear.
And in the stars they did fortell,
That in the South, his name is spelled.

How can they be perfect,
If one was cast for jealousy.
It seems to be suffice,
To be entwined in this mockery of life.
Oh the fortunes we could tell,
For those that belong in hell.
All the stars spelled his name,
In a language only they could imitate.