Thinking the world would be made right
For the righteous, not the wicked.
In my fantasy the swine would lay
Their pearls before my feet, as I sat
On my regal dais and ate truffles.
I believed this was to be
Because I was chosen, I was the beloved.
But prophecy doesn’t come to pass
Without work, and fate needs a task
To complete, and destiny is merely
Looking back on the past at what happened.
If I’m to skip across baptismal waters once
Again, I need to slide off my throne
And crawl to the river’s edge,
Plunge into the crispness of the stream
And either learn how to swim
Or how to accept drowning.