avevale_intelligencer

When, waking to another day of rain,
You find unlooked-for on your bedroom floor
A drawing pin; and, leaping up in pain,
You hit your head upon the wardrobe door;
Fear not, as on the sugar bowl you pour
Your morning tea, or spill it on your jeans;
This is no portent of the day in store.
It does not mean what you believe it means.

Or when the sun beams through the window pane
And nature's blessings bid your spirit soar,
And last night's problems find solutions plain
And all your ships come safely home to shore,
Do not be fooled; 't is but a lull; the war
Goes on, the foe but marshals his machines,
And soon again will sound their fearsome roar.
It does not mean what you believe it means.

What went before is not to come again;
What is to come is not what went before.
There is no plan; the fortune tellers feign.
You have to play the game to know the score.
Lay by those books of esoteric lore.
Cast not the runes, the yarrow, or the beans.
Omens forsake, and prophecy ignore.
It does not mean what you believe it means.

Sicilian Prince, despite the oaths you swore,
The man in black draws closer, unforeseen;
Still "Inconceivable!" you cry once more--
It does not mean what you believe it means.

Yes, I know the envoy's central rhyme is weak. First rule of ballade writing; pick your rhymes more carefully.