The turn it took
To change a fate once set as a stone
To a fate of crumbling debris
One
Single
Turn
A mistake, it might have been
Or perhaps, a touch of fate itself
But nevertheless, it is final
Fatal
To the stone itself
Then again,
who says it could not have been righteous?
For it might, once again,
Be a touch of fate itself
Finally setting straight a course
Once redirected to an unsettling gravelly path
By, yet again, fate itself?
Thus,
Who am I to say
that, unknowingly,
it is all one?
One single path of stones
Debris
And gravel
all laid out
As one perfect,
fated,
mandatory path?
