Tales of a Poor Poge by Richard Palmer - HTML preview

THE TRICKSTER

I have seen the daystar of life grow dim.

Fate, the Trickster, steals the victory

From my hand even as I grasp it.
The quest is again touched by a dark hand

That shores up or tears down our ambition

Without any regard.

Again, left adrift.
Quantum chance seems to rule
Our most secret dreams,
And when it’s dark deed is done
Departs on another mischievous endeavor,

Testing whether lone runners will stand,

Or stumble and fall.