Strange,

the ways of fate,

the machinations of destiny.


Stranger still,

the paths

of life,

skipping,

leaping,

beating,

like hearts

thud-thudding.


Dormant,

unstirred,

as time

murmurs past,

solitary,

alone,

some times,

brimming

with

fragile joy.


Some times,

rendered

numb.


Some times

hewn,

into cold stone.