Home Page Works                                                                  

Fate's Disguise
© September 5, 2007, Roy Stucky

The lamp fills the street with those muscleshirt boys.
They're drawn to the edge where the dead meet the noise.
By day they are serfs working tied to the land.
The dusk shifts the cord to the wilder side's hand.

The beat of their anger loads shadows with fear.
There's violence that's hidden yet obviously near.
They feel discontent but can't think what to do.
They're nervous as lions in a cheap roadside zoo.

They slap their chests and share their drives.
They spread their scents and spin their lies.
They hope to win some larger lives
And yank the mask off Fate's disguise.

The road that's ahead has to wait for the dawn.
The game now afoot trades a king for a pawn.
Some dogs are about keeping cats off their square.
The ones that can't speak are the ones who don't care.

They slap their chests and share their drives.
They spread their scents and spin their lies.
They hope to win some larger lives
And yank the mask off Fate's disguise.

 


(Dawn=responsibility is a daytime thing)