A Stoic's Fate

Fate is like a serious artiste
Who waits for years until the right words come
And won't be rushed by anything, least
Of all by amateurs' impatience.
ThumbYour nose at him, curse him, he'll only gaze
At you serenely from his lofty place
Beyond your world, hidden by the psyche's haze,
Paring his fingernails, with his indifferent face.
His enterprise is deadly serious,
Uncovered by our cliched, false ideas
About him, yet views that he's ominous
Reduce our knowledge. No amount of mea
Culpa can change his mind, and yet he serves
Us better than our life would if it served.