The Devil’s Fiddle

Signs that might be seen as omens

send me on my way

the daylight waning for today

and luck still virgin on display

flying close to danger’s coven

 

The wind blows fortune’s empty cast

as trackless dreams setout

dispelling hope and bringing doubt

without a name to even tout

caught within tomorrows fast

 

I see each warning clearly now

they speak much like a friend

whose words as tokens try to bend

rushing blindly toward the end

captured voices left to bow

 

Those signs that led me all point down

the road is changing fast

no clear distinction first from last

my future damned to be my past

— the devils fiddle calling loud

 

(Saint David’s Pennsylvania: February, 2024)

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