Chance

It’s only a miss
If we’re remiss
In taking the chance
Left in front of us
By the benevolent forces
That strum the harp
And pluck the strings
Into reverberation
Producing notes of harmony
Written on the waves
Of sound, coursing
Away from the source
Rushing to whisper
A word of caution cast aside
Fetter-free in choice
And remaining so if we choose
To take the chance

"Chance," poetry by Roshan James

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