Like the seers of old
I see things coming:
heartbreaks,
absurd situations,
ugly episodes,
tragedies
both
private
and macrocosmic;
and like those hapless
seers of old,
there’s not much,
if anything,
I can do
to prevent
these tragedies
from playing
out
while the gods
and goddesses
look on
cold,
indifferent,
or non-existent,
as I stand
or fall
on the
raised altar,
a sacrifice
to pay for
the insipid lust
of the ancestors,
who,
after centuries
of hard-fated
tragedies,
and silent deities,
might have
known better.
— FB
