Poetry: Chance

When the dials of a lottery machine spin
and hearts beat to match it’s fast clocking,
it may seem like the dials have a mind of their own
and with centripetal resolution know where they’re going.
But when the pointer finally rests, the result is nothing new;
so neither faith, fate or mechanical force can take the glory,
but mere chance though not reckoned anyway
seems to always have it’s way.

Even so, when thinkers make no decisions
and dreamers take no actions,
when believers neglect to pray
and no one did the price pay;
time flies, yet there are no victories to name,
nobody but mere chance takes the blame.