Mirror dance, trickster’s jinx:
imp made of gold playing destiny’s threads,
placing two humans on the same lane,
but at opposite ends, one following,
the other leading and twanging hard whenever
one is about to catch up with the other.
As does the warrior gaping at the knight,
or the wizard aspiring to become a sage,
or the archer looking up at the ranger,
the one behind tries as hard as he can.
The warrior, soaked and bruised,
thrusting forward with iron sword,
deflecting blows with his wooden shield.
The wizard studying into the night.
Or the archer aiming arrows at the eye.
Yet no matter how hard they strive
their rivals always seem one step ahead,
besting them wherever they meet,
whether it be in arena, out back behind
the tavern, or out in the wilds on some quest.
For every milestone they reach, they find
their rivals have already reached it. Although
they consider tossing up their hands
and admitting defeat, they know the trick is
never to give up, for even a trickster knows
there’s no fighting destiny. Strings have
a funny habit of bouncing back at you.
