Kevin J. Fellows, Poet & Author of Fantasy and Speculative Fiction
A king desires gold;
A queen staves her age;
The princess craves power,
But I grant none of these.
My skill to read
Starry maps of night
Creates nothing;
Foretells only possibility;
And grants no certainty.
Points of light plot no destiny;
glittering hope ordains no fate;
Foretelling maps only through
The black holes of the futures
Where one falls.
This windy port draws the lonely
through tufting tides between bows
and skiffs.
Sailors and navigators ply
unseen highways from this rough
city to another.
To ride the whale road takes heart
and luck and an empty home;
none waiting.
The space between ports liminal
full of risk, fear; chances to perish,
and of hope.
(c) Copyright 2019 by Kevin J. Fellows
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Hate
What hate
they spend
on me
I allow them
to waste.
Mine is not
to give
but take,
and take all
they expend,
until no more
is there life
in them.
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A fire snaps burning cold,
memories burn and scratch.
What I’ve lived, unseen
by kings and queens
who marched
us all to death.
The fortunate few are as cursed
by fortune or ill fate; the view
hinged upon which side of the gate
one stands in the mired stain.
