Doesn't anybody anymore,
Pay attention to the rules of the land?
It seems people have given up
On abiding by rules which
Were developed decades, nay
From CENTURIES ago.
An entire encyclopedia,
At our fingertips, for our use,
And we can not see it for the keys.
Nothing is hidden from view.
We have spell check, and
We have grammar check.
In our zeal, we choose to ignore.
We have a thesaurus within our grasp.
We have the ability to count to ten.
And just like everything else in life...
...we have given up on rhyme, and meter.
When will we ever learn,
That some things in life,
Are best left to tradition.
And we should become progressive,
In our thoughts on paper.
Inclusive of Meter, MAYBE to rhyme.
And bring that progression into life.
Not to wither and die on paper,
In a dusty old library of old thoughts and deeds.

There goes Lady Fate,
donned in solar sparks
and her lace corset
whose  overt promiscuity
catches the attention of
one unsuspecting astronaut–
his helm fogs as he exhales,
his breath crude and lascivious.
Even Neptune’s eyes themselves
glitter wetly with passion
as she struts towards Polaris in
her pinprick stilettos.

She adjusts her stance accordingly:

I. Purse lips into a smoulder
(might as well look
pretty while ya get the job done.)

II. Aim for the desired target
(that there’s the bull’s eye.)

III. Wreak havoc
just as any Fate is meant to do.
(But, of course.)

She picks up her staff and fires.

The universe tremors
in an unbridled spiral
of colour and chaos
as the planets
d    a    r    t
about like billiards,                                    
                          colliding/|\with/|\ the/|\ stars

who,  in the midst of the madness,
d i v e r g e and c r* o* s s
for fear of being vanquished.

A cluster of mismatched constellations
and forsaken cosmic particles
settle into a state of
mutual negligence and destruction.
And, together, they liquefy into
a festering pool of molten silver.

Lady Fate grins–
yes, she has the stars right
where she wants them now–
and, in a final act of defiance,
she strikes against the earth
and watches with satisfaction as
it hurtles towards the silver
and sinks down into the molten
like an eight ball.
(And everyone knows it’s
Game Over
once you’ve sunk the eight ball).

From where she stands–
bent over Polaris
in seductive pretentiousness —
she relishes
in the screams
of some wretched lover–
the first to ever be
betrayed by the stars.