David von Rudisill

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Fate, You Old Witch

Fate, you seamstress old witch
Garments of life measured with line
The misery of men, a fabric been stitched
By your roughshod, wicked designs

Buttons missed, or threading used frayed
Throws muscular waste and decay
The world, steeped in suffering has paid
With the dystrophied lives you betray

Impoverished styles you've miserly made
While the hungry painfully wails
Cut-corner fashions are endlessly weighed
On your crooked, treacherous scales

Celestial shop, contains all the cloth
All the ribbons, the bows and the bands
Yet beautiful clothes, are put-off with sloth?
Or lie idle in withering hands?

No orders come in, tailored and chopped
For a dress spangle entrenched?
And what of the suit, with sleeves to be lopped
That for months sat on your bench?

Fate, your life shall be hemmed, in a straightjacket locked
And laced with poisonous snakes
By a white coat I've mended, with pockets I cropped
And cut to your sickening tastes!

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