what if the storm doesn't come?

i don't necessarily feel it

i recgonize the pattern and the signs

i draw inferences from my file of inconclusive evidences

fate. fate plants something in your path. she plants it where it will take root

she plants it so you would take note

at the entrance, at the staircase

eminent storm threatens small village

the mastery of fate on the minute spots; the bane of your existence

now downcast clouds hang over the horizon

so often, you begin to wonder if there is more to it than mere chance

surely fate jests, first curousity, then bafflement and bemusement

we live in an age where fillers are realer than the real thing

a man took a walk with another to talk about headlines

they both worked for the local newspaper

a: tell me what you see

b: downcast clouds hanging over the horizon

a shook his head

a: eminent storm threatens village

b: what if the storm doesn't come?

a: village saved from eminent storm

and so i'm flushed from the corona and not the fierceness in your eyes