If loving you and losing you was in the strings of fate,
Then I don't care what the Moirai say.

As they spin
As they weave
As they cut–

The planets are aligned,
Somewhere in my mind.

Nonetheless they’ve severed our strings,
Such an awful thing to do–
For what is a poet with no muse?

I often wonder if they have fingers like nymphs–
Or talons like gorgons.

Do Clotho’s delicate, slender fingers glide
Over our sorrows, our joys–
Or do her talons send those shivers down our spines?

Just one moment longer I beg,
Like Orpheus got for Euridyce– I don’t ask for much.

Does Lachesis weep when she hears me,
Like Cassandra for Troy
Knowing all, changing none?

Neither deities nor titans, they answer no prayers,
No love breaks laws the universe has laid.

Though, does Atropos ever hesitate
To cut those strings
To sever ties and choose who dies?

Who is it who chooses for them I ponder,
If perhaps the fates themselves can’t escape their fates.