Bad Luck

Stabbed by the ever harsh blade of fate,
It leaves me limping towards a better turn,
Solutions always arrive too late,
While I’m crumpled, whimpering from the burn.

Dice are pelted rather than rolled,
Coins leave their etchings whenever flipped.
Optimism has decayed and turned to mould,
Where towards the fire the scales have tipped.

While the luck of some keeps emanating brightly,
Levitating them, in a perpetual glow.
Others wander alone in the darkness nightly,
Tripping and faltering wherever they go.

For the road in front of them is never direct,
The path is a shambles, broken and torn,
For even if they try to hold their head erect,
It’s hard to progress when faced with scorn.