the hand dealt
somedays it feels like we are the mortars
fired out with precision, sent off for a specific destination,
a purpose, a mission, a destiny to call our own.
then along comes the torrential tyrant cock of being,
storming down the lightning accompanying the thunderbolt.
we act with honor, yet love life to live enough
to dare to be that which pushes the envelope.       

other days awakening too afraid to leave the bed, 
like a child who has seen too many scary movies. 
distracted by the hand, disguising
allowing that which goes bump in the night, 
that slight opening to get inside
that two-way swinging door 
into our heads, instilling the fear, late night shivering,
pa...

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