Destiny takes its own time: A poem 

There is no deceit in dishonesty killing lies 

An action and word trapezing and never falling 

Even failure that is abundant as fields, never fails 

It is an ideophone for a success in posterity 

Rampage is blind, even when the stake is good causes 

There can be an unwelcome friend to avoid losses 

Knives are disguised as ribbons and bows in intrigue’s climes 

For the stars burn a long too much. They are and not sublime 

Courage can be foreclosed. Though it resists. A rebellion 

may be a solution and not. Even an erasure can be erased. 

For evil has a way of claiming good over and over again 

The weapon must be a lie for a lie, not a tooth for a tooth 

Men gamble. Destiny doesn’t. Doing what it should 

It is not arbitrary. Not random. Eras are only 

a means to an end 

They want to hijack paradise, before it is paradise’s time 

To demean justice and truth, cheapening them to a dime 

Like a Santa handing out virtuals in the absence of virtuosity 

They seldom have a clue that the ancient sun will explode 

in the face of premature falsity. Greater good has untold weapons 

Evil can never have the right timing. Good takes its own time