Author’s Note: This is the second of three poems written for the birthday of my dear friend D.R. The theme is a bit unusual for a “birthday poem”, but that is only because I insisted on taking the somewhat corny privilege of celebrating the “fortune” of our meeting, though the poem itself comes to undercut the theme of fortune and counsels towards rebelling against fate.
Inset: The featured image for the poem is Alphonse Mucha’s “Fate”.
Fortune is the handmaid of providence
If she is not herself providence entire
But what good fortune we ask hence
We ask it of our own desire
All that is stone-cast, set immutable
Is set immutable, cast by fortune’s hand
But now we are fortune’s hand immutable
And providence is whatever course we demand
We have stayed Clotho’s weaving
Ceaseless Atropos’ intertwining, too
Stayed Lachesis’ cleaving
Remade our forms stalwart, mutable, true
We are thus as Dust, unbound by providence, by law
As Shadow, unbound by form and unbound by fate.