I am so happy, safe and content;
a self-made man, I am provident.
Long on my laurels, I’m short in the gains;
where fate shares the fortune, I’ll take all the blame.
Though now I am here, I’ve been somewhere else;
on every occasion, I’m not the same self.
A self-made man, but I follow no plan –
Luck has her hand, in how I now am.
Alone, I’m at home, alone in my skin.
I am myself, in the moment I’m in.
“Who cares?” Says another, whom I shall call ‘Brother.’
This ‘Other,’ another brother to suffer;
another life, tougher, bearing skin thin.
Both of us follow the similar plan:
Where Luck lays its hands, in making of men.
Nothing at all is, appears as it ‘Does.’
One time will do it; it then becomes ‘Was.’
I was so happy and too self content;
and there! it had lasted for several moments.
A self-made man, so provident.
As Luck would just have it: Impermanent!
©2015, Marvin Welborn
20 June 2015.