Prickly Bastard Fate

For half a century plus a few more, love~n~hate, hate~n~love, The Deciders of Fate, Týr , Mórríghan, my pantheon have opened and closed many doors, kept the score of my prickly bastard fate.
Those that have read what I have penned before know of my pining for the greats of old, lament of what passes for literature, poetry in society these days, even folklore. Milton tells us of Paradise Lost. Perhaps not, for contemporaries: Tyler tells us to ‘Walk’; Weggelaar tells us Paradise is this Way, I believe both over fate have sway!
What of the great men and women of history, their lives, is it to be called destiny or fate? How many had their fates sealed by the wars of man? The Great War Poet Owen tells us it is the lies of man! This one thing has bothered me more than any other:
If ‘the god’ creates a being to fulfill a certain role,
that being dutifully completes its assigned role,
then is punished for acting out the role,
is that now,
not a god of fate,
rather hate?
I hear people state, ‘tis possible to change your fate, this is not true for you will only change some circumstances yet, for all you do, your bullet on the battlefield finds you, love lost, verify this truth, that prickly bastard fate will always prove itself true, to me and you.

I Remain ~ Eva Weegelaar

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