Power is a fickle thing

One moment you have it by the neck 

Guiding it on a path of your choosing 

The next it’s slipped through your fingers 

Like ocean water, like sand, like hope.

Power is a funny thing 

One day you know it backwards and forwards like the back of your hand, like your childhood best friend 

The next it’s shapeshifted, 

A force to be defeated, an enemy to conquer 

Like battling lovers in Troy, like a chess match 

Power is a ferocious thing 

When it’s yours, you’re higher than the sun at the tippy top of the world 

Then a cloud passes like a shadow, like a storm, like a fear of the night 

and it’s dark again, no more daylight 

Your power belongs to someone new 

Power is a fictional thing 

It’s made up the way Harold and his purple crayon are, the way god might be, the way love could never be

You can choose to give it up or take it back 

Like what to have for dinner, like whether to live another day 

Power is yours for the taking, if only you’re willing to lose a limb or a life