Thursday, November 6


Fortuna smiles on unknown heads,
her eye of jewel glints down
from towers of cloud, angelic beds

where winged beings can't help but frown.
What fools are men whose grievance
lies in seeing others in golden crowns

while round the room in broken credence
dance our sullen little demons.
We dally in self-righteous deviance

expecting the goddess gift past reason,
and when in disappointment, tears are shed
we curse the garden that once was Eden.

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