luck in a bottle

a double-edged blade can be something as inconspicuous as luck

I think our luck is bottled at birth,

Sealed in glass, shaped by the earth,

Some bottles stand tall, untouched by time,

Others crack early, spilling their prime.

Mine was a mountain,

A sliver of fortune tied on my head,

I balanced it well, but fate had slipped,

One foolish stumble and the bottle tipped.

Luck poured out in a glistening stream,

Mingling with dust, with broken dreams,

I watched it bleed into the ground,

While silent fortunes spun around.

Is this why some feast while others fall?

Why do some soar high, and some crawl small?

A single slip, a single spill,

And luck turns sharp enough to kill.

Now I walk with empty hands,

Through crooked streets and bitter lands,

Haunted by the thought, bitter and black

Did the bottle of luck define my life?