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#superstition
Solemn, the people walked. They wore their finest garments, but they didn't seem to have fun— no, they looked serious, almost downcast. They arrived at an old, stone building, and they entered. There, their voices united in sacred prayer, hands up high and a holy melody rose: "Our father in Heaven, hallowed be your name" And so they went on, singing and praying, and, after every prayer, a single word: "Amen" And then, the final one— heavier, a bit louder, seemingly relieving. When they went out, they all stopped and looked, horrified, at one tree's top. They did some gesture with their hands, and they walked home. A loud noise rose from the tree, an offended caw, claiming dignity: "CAW!" Then, the Raven flew.
0
Apr 8
Apr 8, 2026 at 9:48 AM UTC
The Raven flew (4)
Where does your guilt come from? Who gave you , your label ? Do you wear it from your bed to your grave? Do you care ? Are you able ? Do you kneel down, bow your head, and pray, wear out your poorly "designed" knees, every single day? Whisper to heaven through cracked, hungry lips, while your God watches in silence. Planning his next true greatness disaster or violence. Sculpted hunger holy hands, crafting chains before we can stand, every stumble before you are born, Yahweh knows every hair on your head and can read your thoughts and intent, they warn. Call it “free will” … what a beautiful lie. Which one is it? Predestined or choice ? You can't have both just as I, can't use my voice. I could say anything but not this... I can't ask you to trade reality for your holier than thou eternal bliss. Who failed whom ? Have I failed you, failed God and his son / self they say I confess only, that it's true, I doubted, I cursed, I look away from you, But how do you fall from a high ground you weren't given? Not even to look upon or realize. Surprise, surprise. How do I sin before you in this cage I was born in? I had no choice then, but now I must live a life I never knew, “ born again”. To make the wolf, then blame it for the bite... You built the demon darkness, then demanded my tithe in the light. You handed me nothing but hunger, guilt and shame, then engraved on my hellish tombstone "he had only himself to blame." Who's sin is greater — Yahweh's or mine? This Jewish storm god is presented as eternal, infinite, divine… whereas I am dust. I am broken. I am born needing redemption ? I am tested and tired. Or am I just another human and my brain is hard wired. They gave him every power. His chosen ones. Now they fund red hats and push guns. The church as a building, the Synagogue has never shut its doors. Imposing its morality and doing its chores. As the world rose and collapsed again and again all around. The red sea parted they were not swept away or drowned. Through empires and revolutions. Enlightenments and renaissance did nothing to break their control or continuity. The banker has always had more and known the risk. God has his heaven and yours and your prayers morning noon and night. You cannot run or hide from his judgment or escape his ‘salt pillar’ might. I've got a dirt floor, and an empty cupboard. Why ask or expect there is more. Bow to the dollar, the same way you bow to the cross. Just don't try and judge me or say you know me or understand my loss. Turns out the only god that you really follow... is your boss. ( but wasn't that always the point? ) Money is the burning bush that actually speaks, It parts the red sea of every landlord it meets, It raises the dead weight of debt off your back. Show me a prayer that can do that. So maybe I failed ... I'll wear that cross bare, But who built the gallows before I got there, You call it a test, I call it a trap. A cosmic joke laughing while I fumble with the map. Explain this to me: Why does a child starve in plain sight of the garden or sea? Why does the righteous man beg for his bread, While the man with no conscience sleeps easy in bed? I failed, YOU? Fine. Write it down. Who failed me ? What power do I have compared to yours? I never claimed that I did all this. I do accept the good I have done, and I only thank god that I am not the only one and I am not alone. I know you are only a social construct, and I am but flesh and bone. Judge me forever, say there are things that are unforgivable. Now claim you didn't make the crooked before a breath I could draw, And if we only fail, who is responsible for what flaw? because failure was your lofty plan. You do what you must. and I WILL DO what I can. Then the greatest lie ever told... was that you loved man. You made us to bask in our eternal inferiority. Refuse; and burn eternally now that's real love. The truth, when push comes to shove.
0
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 4:04 PM UTC
Failing ? , at human nature ... ?
Where does your guilt come from? Who gave you , your label ? Do you wear it from your bed to your grave? Do you care ? Are you able ? Do you kneel down, bow your head, and pray, wear out your poorly "designed" knees, every single day? Whisper to heaven through cracked, hungry lips, while your God watches in silence. Planning his next true greatness disaster or violence. Sculpted hunger holy hands, crafting chains before we can stand, every stumble before you are born, Yahweh knows every hair on your head and can read your thoughts and intent, they warn. Call it “free will” … what a beautiful lie. Which one is it? Predestined or choice ? You can't have both just as I, can't use my voice. I could say anything but not this... I can't ask you to trade reality for your holier than thou eternal bliss. Who failed whom ? Have I failed you, failed God and his son / self they say I confess only, that it's true, I doubted, I cursed, I look away from you, But how do you fall from a high ground you weren't given? Not even to look upon or realize. Surprise, surprise. How do I sin before you in this cage I was born in? I had no choice then, but now I must live a life I never knew, “ born again”. To make the wolf, then blame it for the bite... You built the demon darkness, then demanded my tithe in the light. You handed me nothing but hunger, guilt and shame, then engraved on my hellish tombstone "he had only himself to blame." Who's sin is greater — Yahweh's or mine? This Jewish storm god is presented as eternal, infinite, divine… whereas I am dust. I am broken. I am born needing redemption ? I am tested and tired. Or am I just another human and my brain is hard wired. They gave him every power. His chosen ones. Now they fund red hats and push guns. The church as a building, the Synagogue has never shut its doors. Imposing its morality and doing its chores. As the world rose and collapsed again and again all around. The red sea parted they were not swept away or drowned. Through empires and revolutions. Enlightenments and renaissance did nothing to break their control or continuity. The banker has always had more and known the risk. God has his heaven and yours and your prayers morning noon and night. You cannot run or hide from his judgment or escape his ‘salt pillar’ might. I've got a dirt floor, and an empty cupboard. Why ask or expect there is more. Bow to the dollar, the same way you bow to the cross. Just don't try and judge me or say you know me or understand my loss. Turns out the only god that you really follow... is your boss. ( but wasn't that always the point? ) Money is the burning bush that actually speaks, It parts the red sea of every landlord it meets, It raises the dead weight of debt off your back. Show me a prayer that can do that. So maybe I failed ... I'll wear that cross bare, But who built the gallows before I got there, You call it a test, I call it a trap. A cosmic joke laughing while I fumble with the map. Explain this to me: Why does a child starve in plain sight of the garden or sea? Why does the righteous man beg for his bread, While the man with no conscience sleeps easy in bed? I failed, YOU? Fine. Write it down. Who failed me ? What power do I have compared to yours? I never claimed that I did all this. I do accept the good I have done, and I only thank god that I am not the only one and I am not alone. I know you are only a social construct, and I am but flesh and bone. Judge me forever, say there are things that are unforgivable. Now claim you didn't make the crooked before a breath I could draw, And if we only fail, who is responsible for what flaw? because failure was your lofty plan. You do what you must. and I WILL DO what I can. Then the greatest lie ever told... was that you loved man. You made us to bask in our eternal inferiority. Refuse; and burn eternally now that's real love. The truth, when push comes to shove.
Continue reading...
103
Knock on wood. Everything will be fine. I look at it before I knock. I see the faded lines, and the cracks. Though, I still bring my knuckle to the block and I pound my fist onto the worn surface; hoping it’s worth it, but, I learn that fate has other ideas. I see the slivers in my hand, then begin to understand that things rarely go as planned. You just have to learn to withstand what life teaches.
0
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 3:01 PM UTC
Knock on wood.
On one side is a village and on the other is a temple. If a **** occurs in the village, screams are heard. The villagers gather. Try the same thing in the temple, nothing happens... No one listens. Why is this? Because there is no God in the idol. The idol contains only superstition, the consciousness of hypocrisy, the conscience of hypocrisy, which is what is entangled you.
0
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 2:02 AM UTC
consciousness of hypocrisy
she would always do what she could to borrow positivity from the universe with charms of luck sage smudging and practices of good karma where she could; so without second thought and even though he might not believe she picked up a second conker one for her and one for him to carry in his pocket on the off chance it might help
0
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 8:29 AM UTC
just conkers
Jeff, my òyìnbó friend approached me and spoke so fervently about their childhood myths. About their Santa Claus, their Tooth Fairy, their Easter Bunny, and the different ghosts during halloweens. And then he asked me if we too had these. I looked at him and just laughed. Santa Claus? Did he mean Bòdá Sholá in the next street who plays Father Christmas? And what did he mean by Easter Bunny? Perhaps he meant the òkété in my tummy that I had last night as a meal. Also, Tooth Fairy? Was it because he saw that kid yesterday throwing his loose tooth with some pebbles on the roof that he thought we had one too? Moreover, what different ghosts during halloweens? Maybe he meant the òjùjú kalabas that our elders scare us with.
0
Jan 5
Jan 5, 2026 at 6:37 AM UTC
My Òyìnbó Friend
Silence yourselves!!! The mighty God of Israel has spoken. All the rules of love are broken. Only the chosen above the ****** Only the superstitiously impaired human. …………………………
0
Jan 4
Jan 4, 2026 at 8:41 AM UTC
Pro-Semitic
There's something to be said for superstition, It never seems to let you down, Now it's to the point, I wont even pass my cat, She did nothing wrong, But her label is bad.
0
May 4, 2025
May 4, 2025 at 9:30 PM UTC
Superstition
Roses over the farm With machines to watch Liberty is a quiet worth, in long marches With tact to establish, and wantonness to match? Working for an undue cloud, is like this A host of wishes so profound... Without any habit oft heed, for comparative bliss? Of a human choice, in the shadows of a world We grow the obvious And harvest the complex, complete to winks And stinks of the nowhere, many in seldom to discuss The wages of simplicity, to know a character of what is... Arts of the ****** wish for more... Aches of intellect, service an ideal... Acts of ingenue, know a craving host for order... 'And the scope of justice in the land, is it all and sanity, to heal? Wounds of the ley, the avarice of a noble land? Has stood, and begun the counting Of a worthier wish than a clash of energy's at hand With the pleasance of meager insight to keep, is suicide pouting?
0
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 7:59 AM UTC
Artificial Sweetener
(a university-life vignette) It’s a Friday night, Leong and I are at a small restaurant close to the dorm called “Ordinary.” We’re in a cozy, pleasantly dark, little red booth—waiting for Lisa—who’s running late. This is Leong’s favorite bar and her taste in exotic drinks is labile—tonight she has us drinking ‘Maker’s Mark,’ a delicious, straight-up bourbon, with a twist of orange peel. We’re on our second—and I’m starting to buzz—did I mention Lisa’s running late? On a hot note, we’re celebrating. I turned in the first draft of my thesis prospectus last Wednesday and this morning I got it back - accepted. But more importantly, when I tore into the envelope, back in my room, there was a yellow sticky-note on the prospectus that read like an academic valentine. It said: “Anais, you write beautifully, with the economy of a poet.” I may have danced around my room. So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and noshing on a charcuterie platter when this cute, hipster, Princeton transfer-student guy named Milo showed up—drink in hand. He’s like, 5 '11 with light-brown medium-longish hair tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a light blue, textured cardigan over a tan t-shirt and leaf-green work pants. At first, he’s walking by, but he spots us and stops. “Has anyone ever told you look like Anais Vionet?” He asked me. “No,” I replied, “never.” “You sound like her too,” he followed up. “Well, I wouldn’t know,” I answered, shaking my head ‘no’ and shrugging. “But she’d never come to a dive this cheap,” he updogged. “Oh, yes she would,” I assured him. Then, I gasped, remembering. Milos on one of Yale’s 500 soccer teams. “You guys lost to Princeton the other day! Isn’t that your alma mater? Congratulations!” “Thanks, for bringing that up,” he said somewhat chagrined, “We lost one-to-nil—it was just bad luck,” he said defensively. “Oh, bad luck,” I chided him. He did look tired and defeated, so I motioned him to take a seat. He slid right in next to Leong, who’s hand he shook, “Milo,” he said. “I KNOW,” she said, in a sly and evil way—we’ve talked about him, conspiratorially—even she thinks he’s cute—and cross-culturally-cute isn’t easy. “Are you superstitious?” Milo asked us—turning so Leong was included. “Oh, sure,” I spoke first, “I was raised catholic, and even if you don’t hundo-p believe, it carries over. I always carry a lucky crystal with me—you know, for tests and what-not—I depend on that, as opposed to diligence and studying.” “You have one with you now?” He followed up. “I do,” I confessed, “I always have one in my bra.” “Wow,” he laughed, “Why?” “I don’t know,” I chuckled, “For luck—in case I need to appear supper fun and sassy? Though I guess I’m proof crystals don’t work.” “Do you really have a crystal in your bra?” He asked, sipping his whisky. “Yeah,” I said, sliding my hand discreetly into my left cup and bringing out a tiny, flat green, polished Jade stone crystal. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” He asked. “Nah, there’s plenty of room in there,” I admitted, sliding the crystal back in place. “Leong’s superstitious,” I said, nodding to her. “All Chinese are superstitious,” Leong pronounced, “whenever I had a big exam at school, my mother would go and leave a chicken at the temple.” Milo and I chortled—I’d actually seen women do that when I lived in Shenzhen. “Well, I guess it worked!” Milo pronounced, and he and Leong high-fived. “We have a saying, ‘it’s better to be lucky than good,” he added. We say, “Yùnqì zhòngyàoguò nénglì,” Leong noted, in Cantonese. “Luck is more important than ability,” I translated. Speaking of luck, Lisa finally arrived. . . Songs for this: Where Are You by 54 Ultra Cut Glass by mark william lewis
0
Nov 13, 2024
Nov 13, 2024 at 11:04 AM UTC
for luck
(a university-life vignette) It’s a Friday night, Leong and I are at a small restaurant close to the dorm called “Ordinary.” We’re in a cozy, pleasantly dark, little red booth—waiting for Lisa—who’s running late. This is Leong’s favorite bar and her taste in exotic drinks is labile—tonight she has us drinking ‘Maker’s Mark,’ a delicious, straight-up bourbon, with a twist of orange peel. We’re on our second—and I’m starting to buzz—did I mention Lisa’s running late? On a hot note, we’re celebrating. I turned in the first draft of my thesis prospectus last Wednesday and this morning I got it back - accepted. But more importantly, when I tore into the envelope, back in my room, there was a yellow sticky-note on the prospectus that read like an academic valentine. It said: “Anais, you write beautifully, with the economy of a poet.” I may have danced around my room. So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and noshing on a charcuterie platter when this cute, hipster, Princeton transfer-student guy named Milo showed up—drink in hand. He’s like, 5 '11 with light-brown medium-longish hair tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a light blue, textured cardigan over a tan t-shirt and leaf-green work pants. At first, he’s walking by, but he spots us and stops. “Has anyone ever told you look like Anais Vionet?” He asked me. “No,” I replied, “never.” “You sound like her too,” he followed up. “Well, I wouldn’t know,” I answered, shaking my head ‘no’ and shrugging. “But she’d never come to a dive this cheap,” he updogged. “Oh, yes she would,” I assured him. Then, I gasped, remembering. Milos on one of Yale’s 500 soccer teams. “You guys lost to Princeton the other day! Isn’t that your alma mater? Congratulations!” “Thanks, for bringing that up,” he said somewhat chagrined, “We lost one-to-nil—it was just bad luck,” he said defensively. “Oh, bad luck,” I chided him. He did look tired and defeated, so I motioned him to take a seat. He slid right in next to Leong, who’s hand he shook, “Milo,” he said. “I KNOW,” she said, in a sly and evil way—we’ve talked about him, conspiratorially—even she thinks he’s cute—and cross-culturally-cute isn’t easy. “Are you superstitious?” Milo asked us—turning so Leong was included. “Oh, sure,” I spoke first, “I was raised catholic, and even if you don’t hundo-p believe, it carries over. I always carry a lucky crystal with me—you know, for tests and what-not—I depend on that, as opposed to diligence and studying.” “You have one with you now?” He followed up. “I do,” I confessed, “I always have one in my bra.” “Wow,” he laughed, “Why?” “I don’t know,” I chuckled, “For luck—in case I need to appear supper fun and sassy? Though I guess I’m proof crystals don’t work.” “Do you really have a crystal in your bra?” He asked, sipping his whisky. “Yeah,” I said, sliding my hand discreetly into my left cup and bringing out a tiny, flat green, polished Jade stone crystal. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” He asked. “Nah, there’s plenty of room in there,” I admitted, sliding the crystal back in place. “Leong’s superstitious,” I said, nodding to her. “All Chinese are superstitious,” Leong pronounced, “whenever I had a big exam at school, my mother would go and leave a chicken at the temple.” Milo and I chortled—I’d actually seen women do that when I lived in Shenzhen. “Well, I guess it worked!” Milo pronounced, and he and Leong high-fived. “We have a saying, ‘it’s better to be lucky than good,” he added. We say, “Yùnqì zhòngyàoguò nénglì,” Leong noted, in Cantonese. “Luck is more important than ability,” I translated. Speaking of luck, Lisa finally arrived. . . Songs for this: Where Are You by 54 Ultra Cut Glass by mark william lewis
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40
Caw , call , caul , the bird , mermaid birth , it reclined over the Childe's face . Striga and born with a shirt , carefully the child shifted it to one side . ☆ An earthly lord , transcending a hero's archetype . Fly wastrel to enchanted faerie kingdom , and watch a whole world pass away .
0
Oct 22, 2024
Oct 22, 2024 at 7:39 AM UTC
Byron
A drink; a drink, Another for me! And one overboard For the God of the sea! A drink; a drink! Another for me! A vision of *** A truth for me! A drink; a drink! Once more for the gods! O, safe keep our ship, From the men of the odds! A drink; a drink, Poseidon, he falls! Dionysus insists; His brother; he calls!
0
Sep 20, 2024
Sep 20, 2024 at 7:39 AM UTC
A drink!
Faith is guidable, while superstition hardly -- can be influenced.
0
Jul 4, 2024
Jul 4, 2024 at 2:50 AM UTC
[ Faith is guidable ]
Red... The snore of a ghost...? Has seen a party, with music fed A prayer; a sincerity lost? Catching a breeze Catching a star Chances predict, a certain heathen With marveling eyes, staring at far Away Motion of a decision Saving might from may A sorrow has spent a stare's lesson Purpose beyond Stifling a wish, that gave... No man a soul, for psyche and longing? Are we to dance, alone or might we take... The time to ask Cause curious, enough to face... The music, for its compassion of facts? Seeing a cacophony, I know you, for dread's race...
0
Jun 17, 2024
Jun 17, 2024 at 4:35 PM UTC
The Babe That Has Never Worn A Hat...
the shell chipped and fell into the bowl two yolks swirling around one whole and deep orange the other paling in comparison fragile membrane pricked by ivory bleeding into the white i cursed could have been more careful.
0
Mar 6, 2024
Mar 6, 2024 at 9:50 PM UTC
good luck?
don't eat the green ones, for they bring upon sudden rain that slicks the roads on a Q....t night don't touch the yellow ones, for they cause mechanisms to fail upending lives in a matter of a moment and for God's sake, don't taste the red ones, for they are laced with poison far deadlier than cyanide smoke. hold tight to your coin, the one whose year adds to thirteen. perhaps it will save you from the danger of counting to three. make no plans following your shift for the gods of fortune do not favor the prepared nor those who stitch their patches on too soon you'll come to loathe the moon, her face, shown in full, driving mad the insecure and away the rolling lights. no boots off until midnight, lest you be called impertinent, and proven so by the savior bell's ironic sense of humor follow these rules to survive. question not why they are told, for it is better to wonder in safety than to tempt the unfair Lady known as Luck.
0
Jan 18, 2024
Jan 18, 2024 at 4:48 AM UTC
charms
the old wives say it must be the left hind foot of a rabbit shot with a silver bullet or not shot at all simply captured one way or another ideally on the grave of a criminal the more wicked the person the more potent the charm with the foot harvested while the poor creature is still alive it has to be done in a cemetery during the night of a full or new moon though others say it should be a friday a rainy friday friday the thirteenth if the foot is to become one of those lucky ones
0
May 10, 2023
May 10, 2023 at 12:11 PM UTC
lucky ones
Patience, fate Trees and treasures of kind The tale of inclined sate Has a sunny disposition, as if time Care for a threshold of dissuasion another day? Real regret, is the purpose behind our musings Anger and delves of uniqueness, are to begin with may A choice of shoulders, save itself for what patience looses... Salt, is a final run to safety, a hug in the wind? Curious speed, the irony of candor, to exist Bred upon balance and the common, the tone of a new voice That was a care, the towardness of you, an embarrassed list... With no man's land, came the wish of potential Sulking and denoted to be, the vice of remembering The otherwise certain specific, the tongue of quintessential Looks of responsibility for a question to guidance, sometimes humbling... Will you marry me? Places of blossoms, and the callous through and due, today Of a quiet simplicity, for the anecdote of when boding is anarchy Isn't a world of itself, the only reason a challenged voice, was anyway? Persist and pout The devil and the deed of the bluesy's... Right to contain and contemplate another good intent, shout Upon a caring rainbow found in the mere, all more, and me...
0
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 10:24 PM UTC
Talking To Myself, After The Reign...
The ancients put tremendous matters On oracles and auguries.   When godhood speaks, the priest agrees. Glib cunning fails when trouble batters.   Calculations have a thousand ways To err, while chance can cut the odds To one in ten, or more if gods Drop hints about our dossiers.   Augurs read events to come From entrails, bones, and scattered sticks.   Their guesses are arithmetics For problems reasoning can’t sum.
0
Jan 17, 2022
Jan 17, 2022 at 10:06 AM UTC
Auguries
ladybird, ladybird pen-push through sternum cry when I catch & lie when I pin them fluid fills, spills, stains the page fold fly away, fly away, fly away home
0
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 4:00 PM UTC
wishes & inkblots
Another day for discovery, another dance of fate One that's guaranteed to please, the stars have set this date The twins are free, the moon is high, and Mars has come in line And on this, the 5th, my lucky day, I have to rise and shine With fingers crossed and wood well-knocked, I leave my lonely place The words of the fortune cookie have put a smile upon my face With lucky penny and rabbit's foot, my future must be sound But, just in case, when I spy the ladder, I will choose to go around I'm lucky 21 today and I've wished upon my star No mirrors broke or salty spills, no black cats on my path A brand new year, to quell my fears, and act on all my schemes Today's my day, destined to meet, the stranger of my dreams But as my lucky day unfolds, and my hopes are stretched and bruised The world continues just the same, like it doesn't know my rules And expectation is not met, nor new advantage gained For though the signs are all in place, the day is just the same What has gone wrong, why is this so, have I left something out? This day should be so joyful, and make me sing and shout Yet as day's end nears and I taste the tears, of disappointment and despair A sudden thought occurs to me, that I can hardly bear Little rabbit, tucked in my purse, and nestled at my side Who offers luck and promises, a life changing surprise He paid a price for lucky feet, for that which he was bred He hops no more, and twitches not, for little bunny's dead And as I ponder on rabbit's fate, a new thought comes to me About my shining lucky penny, that grandma gave to me That trinket has daily been with me, since I was only nought Yet, didn't stop the darker days, that life and loss have wrought And what of horsey, free and fair, who wants to run and neigh? But lost his shoe and was tethered to, become a human's slave My breath was short and my face was wet, as I sought the truth to see That planets were indifferent and not aware of me No clover found, no lucky star, no bad luck from spilled salt And the dreamcatcher above my bed, also nightmares caught And even old Saint Christopher, who was meant to protect me Didn't help the day I crashed my car into a tree And suddenly, I knew the truth, with my future plain to see That all these things were not in control, that it was up to me That sometimes we have accidents and illnesses and such And objects would not be for us, a prevention or a crutch That stars and numbers just exist and birthdays will come and go And sometimes we will make mistakes, and life will ebb and flow And realizing all these things, I suddenly felt free And vowed then to prepare myself, for future misery For all the rituals and the charms, and lucky numbers too Had not produced a happy life, or made a future new I would take control and steer my life, by my own deeds instead For rabbit's foot could not help him, and sadly, bunny's dead
0
Mar 17, 2021
Mar 17, 2021 at 12:15 PM UTC
Bad-Luck Bunny
Another day for discovery, another dance of fate One that's guaranteed to please, the stars have set this date The twins are free, the moon is high, and Mars has come in line And on this, the 5th, my lucky day, I have to rise and shine With fingers crossed and wood well-knocked, I leave my lonely place The words of the fortune cookie have put a smile upon my face With lucky penny and rabbit's foot, my future must be sound But, just in case, when I spy the ladder, I will choose to go around I'm lucky 21 today and I've wished upon my star No mirrors broke or salty spills, no black cats on my path A brand new year, to quell my fears, and act on all my schemes Today's my day, destined to meet, the stranger of my dreams But as my lucky day unfolds, and my hopes are stretched and bruised The world continues just the same, like it doesn't know my rules And expectation is not met, nor new advantage gained For though the signs are all in place, the day is just the same What has gone wrong, why is this so, have I left something out? This day should be so joyful, and make me sing and shout Yet as day's end nears and I taste the tears, of disappointment and despair A sudden thought occurs to me, that I can hardly bear Little rabbit, tucked in my purse, and nestled at my side Who offers luck and promises, a life changing surprise He paid a price for lucky feet, for that which he was bred He hops no more, and twitches not, for little bunny's dead And as I ponder on rabbit's fate, a new thought comes to me About my shining lucky penny, that grandma gave to me That trinket has daily been with me, since I was only nought Yet, didn't stop the darker days, that life and loss have wrought And what of horsey, free and fair, who wants to run and neigh? But lost his shoe and was tethered to, become a human's slave My breath was short and my face was wet, as I sought the truth to see That planets were indifferent and not aware of me No clover found, no lucky star, no bad luck from spilled salt And the dreamcatcher above my bed, also nightmares caught And even old Saint Christopher, who was meant to protect me Didn't help the day I crashed my car into a tree And suddenly, I knew the truth, with my future plain to see That all these things were not in control, that it was up to me That sometimes we have accidents and illnesses and such And objects would not be for us, a prevention or a crutch That stars and numbers just exist and birthdays will come and go And sometimes we will make mistakes, and life will ebb and flow And realizing all these things, I suddenly felt free And vowed then to prepare myself, for future misery For all the rituals and the charms, and lucky numbers too Had not produced a happy life, or made a future new I would take control and steer my life, by my own deeds instead For rabbit's foot could not help him, and sadly, bunny's dead
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49
I am a feline, With black and shiny fur Not a bearer of bad luck. Every time I walk so many turn away , God! Why did you make me this way? History hold examples , Of me being good. Is it because I am not white or brown, Or any colour you like? Or maybe I am different, Something you dislike? Look through my eyes, And you will know How the world I see. Walk in my shoes, And when you wear yours again , A better person you will be.
0
Jun 19, 2020
Jun 19, 2020 at 2:26 PM UTC
Black