Sitting ducks

Clouds press against the bulwark of the hills.  
Heavy with promised rain,
Threatening to spill over.
 
Juxtapose  
 
Spring grass,
    Sunshine,
As I cross the green space between classes.  
Thoughts floating in and out,
One passes like a cloud before the sun...
 
Survivor....
Dare I call myself that?
I wasn't there,  
     Not that day.
 
Clouds across the sun,
    A year before...
        A stray thought...
 
"Gods help us if ever there is a shooting here...
      We'll be sitting ducks...."
 
Clouds dismissed as morbid musings.
Thunder rolls down the mountain side.
 
The fates weave their threads,  and occasionally whisper in my ear...
 
Survivor...
   Should have been,   
       Would have been,   
           Could have been....
 
Cards layed out,
     The tower
          The Wheel,   
                The pierced heart.
 
And the gods cover my eyes,  
       Pull the curtain.  
 
"Do I take this path?"
     A friend asks...
          "Do I take this road?"
 
Free fall,
   and warp and weft,
         All strands ,
All paths leading....
 
If I hadn't gone abroad...
     Shots ring out...
If I hadn't taken on the extra load...
      Turning towards the sound,
What if I had counseled a different road?
 
Door opening...
 
Was there ever a different road?
     Five of swords...
 
The door closes,
     The last path taken,  
            The thread cut....
 
So many convergences,
Lives lost and saved...
 
Juxtapose  
 
Warm sun on my face,  
     A year before,   
 Brushing away the morbid musings...
 
Survivor,   
What right do I have to call myself that...
I wasn't there,   
      Not that day.. .
 
And the rains come....
 
Sitting ducks.