The Comforts of Misfortune

The flame burns brightly,

and begs a close inspection,

but as the nearness frightens us,

a shrill retreat is heard.

We flatter unrestrainedly,

the visions of ourselves,

as though our goals were simply put,

and lacked but fate's unraveling.

A sadly destined endless cycle,

of finding, faulting, fleeing,

not daring to abandon seeking -

the comforts of misfortune.

Caress the flame and hold it dear,

and dare the fates while laughing,

or cycle round again anew,

forever spinning madly.