Smoke and Mirrors Issue 1 - Poetry: Fortuna's Speech
Fortuna's Speech
by Cecilio Morales
Copyright (c) 1992
This is the last Spring
I will grant you, human,
before you face Autumn in earnest,
then Winter.
It is the last Spring
mares will all seem maidens,
all men stallions,
and every breeze a dream's whisper
that you believe.
Do not mishear me, human,
it is a false Spring,
an Indian Summer:
soon you will starve and die.
But for one last season
the faintest brush of lips
will quicken your lickerishness;
for one last time
your striving
will approach its goal:
your work will be an enterprise,
its reward within your grasp.
Advice, you ask, human?
Don't make me laugh.
You will write the Book of Life
with your own blood
and only after the story is finished
will you and I know
how worthy was your prose.
One day you will wake,
it will be cold
and hags will titter toothless
in one corner,
while you sit wizened
on a far bench,
smarter much too late.
Did I disturb you, human,
with my taunts?
Arise, you have one last chance:
my music plays,
so dance.
