The Fourth


I am coveted for my perceived powers

Powers not rising from greatness

But born from the curse of my own deformity

I am but one, standing among thousands

Of three, there are many, but my fourth betrays me

I am plucked, the roots of my soul ripping from the earth

I am treasured, my shell tucked away or discarded in the wind

With the luck that I bear, I cannot save myself

From withering and crumbling to nothing