Chances

Not many people grab hold of opportunities when they come to them. It's like a 3 year old playing with a gold coin - it's meaningless to him, or he simply fails to see the gravity of the material. Nevertheless, falling down in the first place teaches us to look at the ground while running. But life, as a game of chances offers second chances very rarely. And we as failures, are always on the prowl for them - hoping and praying for second chances.

Chances

Distilled as water from the clouds,

Cleansed like the mud post flood,

We stand holding torches - eyes shut.

In a field of newfangled dexterity,

As chances passing by laugh at our stupidity.

Too much time do we take to open our eyes,

To realize long ago- the flame has died,

And the torch is merely a stone to be lied.

We shout, we stumble, we fall,

And raze to the ground what once stood tall.

Masquerading self in a party of imposters,

Pointing out mistakes on everyone else,

But just as always, time surely tells:

Tales of fools living together,

Pretending to be alone and withered.

In darkness we learn to strive,

Painting nebulous faces on tree trunks with blood,

Sadly, eyes open only when the light's shut,

And this story seems so strange,

Because we're fools waiting with dead torches in our hands - for chances to pass by again.