Home » Poem » BLAME IT ON FATE




I worked very hard to get over the blight, 

Then to fashion a quill that would actually write.

Pick the feather up and begin to sharpen

The end into a perfect nib.


An inkwell full of Indian ink, 

Jet black and smooth almost velvet in texture, 

Next a parchment that was specially prepared

To record the unfolding events.


The seers and prophets had forecast the end

Of the world as we know it is nigh,

They say the information was revealed,

From prophetic knowledge of old.


The sands of time have passed by the mark,

When we should be part of the past

The star in the North is still burning

The light is overcoming the dark.


Why is the end of the world so late?

I measured the sands and counted the days, 

The solar and lunar forecasters will state

Scientific evidence will blame it on fate. 


Copyright © Written by John Yeo, All rights reserved.

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