A Greater Force

I had chats with my predecessor, a man who claims awesomeness, a certain ex-9.583333 as well as the Moustached Marvel regarding this. Well, I put forth my views again, this time through verse.

The woods were green, tulips red

Cobbled stones covered the way

Yellow scattered ray by ray

The silhouette stared up ahead

Half thinking, half with dread.

Since a fork lay to the fore

One path preferred, another not

How to choose, why, when, what?

Gold at the end of one, said lore

The other brought scourges, nothing more.

Start similar seeming, so diverse they close

Two doors shown, the lone man’s choice

Would he cry? Or would he rejoice?

Once a road taken; the verdict froze

No comebacks, no changing course.

The incessant probe of questions beat

Which to choose? And which to leave?

The answer was there – a wondrous weave

For dwelt he in a painting, ein lied

Being but a pawn in the artist’s feat.

An expression – vexed, on his face

This was the game the painter played

As questions drummed, his dilemma stayed

His form was white, on dark canvas base

The painter’s art – to him was maze.

He couldn’t view, of the road, its end.

Yet answers simple, were painted ‘fore him

By Pastel and Oil – rich here, thither dim

Illustrating a way to follow, to tend.

And yet silent of the trail’s end.

Little he knew that the maestro, his lord

Held his life by reins in art

In series of prints, hung little apart.

His story was written, he could but nod

He solemnly wished his tale not flawed.

But within, he discerned, he knew

Whatever road he should soon take

Whichever choice he would soon make

Had already been made as the artist drew

Leading him from painting one to two.

A future he could ne’er foresee

Was but part of a greater plan

Deeply entwined with many a man.

What was, what is and what could be

Was told by strokes; the brush’s decree.

Helpless he was as his painting hung

The next one nigh; with solutions to doubt

The next episode of his tale vividly painted out

The adjacent canvas was the ladder’s next rung

The ladder was life; his story they sung.

He took joy in a fact so mere –

That whatever be his final pick

The clock of life would continue to tick

So as to take him there from here.

Everything had been written ere.

He realized the force too great

One could nought but comply with

Nothing was difficult, life was lithe

Each sketch was Life at different date

The silhouette I and the master – Fate.