The omens we ignored stare us down
Misplaced letter and broken glass,
Stormy days filled with perfect plans,
Calls from persons still unknown
Asking for your hand, if they could
Yet your feet you soak in dyes of false hope
Ignoring the ones your eyes now cloak
Staring through windows brown from age
Pierced by countenance of an ignored sage
The faceless mind that second-guessed your every folly
The limbless voices that remarked about "how unholy"
But now it's just you, with your colt in your mouth
He has his hands free, one safely in his pocket,
The other, motioning for you to say, "shhh"