Fate isn't an invitation
It is a silent expectation
It is not something we do
Instead it is
Something we unconsciously pursue
In the end we remember
And celebrate our victories
But rather it might so be that
Unfulfilled destinies are counted
And remembered as our failures
Unknown expectations are misery
These unfair and concrete contracts
We enter the void emptied
After a life alone
Silent and without a savior
For I am a weed,
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail,
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
Lord Byron
