Dancing through the street comes the man who has won.
She watches the prophet with the hand that is shriveled.
For he unwinds fate like yarn around his thumb,
And solves the questions from a mind that has riddled.
She stares at her hand, which is slowly decaying.
For she is like him; two seers alike.
But he's spared from the cracks that she staggers around with;
Pierced through her heart like the prey of a shrike.
Lacking clear vision, she groped for the answers.
Did she find the truth, or did her fate disagree?
For she became like a fool in her wedding gown,
And over time forgot who she was meant to be.
A stodgy life and an anchor of paper.
She wishes for more but asks not for much.
Merely some coals to melt the pillars of ice,
And a slight kiss of fate to soften its touch.
Truth surges through and pushes her forward.
A prophet she is not, for she is stuck in a bind.
Her cup of memories spills on the floor,
As she watches her hand slowly start to unwind.
She recalls her own face on the prophet she saw.
All is clear, for all she can see.
She swallows the needles that shall stitch up the cracks,
For she sees the path of what's meant to be.
YOU ARE READING
Fools & Vipers - A collection of poems
PoesiaIt wraps around my body well, But between the seams of my dress, Would fit a thousand embroideries, But no longer would it match. My first anthology. This is a small bundle of ten poems about birds and flowers, thoughts and feelings, hedgehogs...
