Liquid lines
moving through time eternal
strands weaving and warping
telling the same old tales.
Woe shall befall the King
proclaims the blinded seer.
Blood shall spatter the Good Queen’s name
shouts the sinister beggar.
Behold the chains binding the waif
bending her to knee and back,
leaving a hole in the fabric of being
as her lover clamors for return,
speaketh the Oracle.
Each saga the same.
Each time a repeat of another
as each soul is reborn
prey to the Fates,
who play them like pawns upon the chessboard.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
Sept. 30/17