Thirteen, Number of Ill Omen

In hallowed texts, a cursed sign,
Thirteen, harbinger of woe malign.
Associated with Judas' treachery,
A number steeped in superstition's secrecy.

Thirteen, bearer of misfortune's weight,
A stigma cast upon its hapless fate.
Superstition paints it black as night,
A harbinger of sorrow, fear and blight.

But hold, my friends, let reason sway,
And challenge tales that hold us at bay.
Thirteen, merely a number, we see,
Its significance, a mere fallacy.

With open minds, let's break the spell,
And free this number from its cursed cell.
For numbers hold no power to harm or bless,
Their meaning lies in our own duress.

So let us cast aside the ancient dread,
And embrace thirteen with hearts unled.
Let it be a symbol of growth and might,
A number filled with hope and light.

For in the realm of human will,
We shape our destiny, good or ill.
Let thirteen be a reminder true,
That superstition's grip we can undo.