Prophetic Loss

echo05L

The Gathering

 

When the time came for something to be done,

A dove was sent,

This was not a time for donkeys.

The prophets were beckoned to the town square,

And with that the dove took rest.

 

No problem too big, no fate too heavy,

They would work together,

Like they always had,

And they would come upon answers,

Like they always had.

And so,

They left.

 

Crept from the tower on silent feet

Left shadows in the woods on guard

Sailed from the cove

Single fleet

Packed myrrh in the crook of a cart

 

Embers still from fires willed

Put them-selves to sleep

Light fell fortune’s way lest time

Be siphoned in the deep

 

A gentle brow on Prophet One

The skies of intellect

Blue and calm, eternal balm

Logic resurrect

 

Leather footed, feathered, padding

Strong is Prophet next

Beaded, painted, holy, sainted

Gather now the rest

 

In the circle centre stands the leader of the Clan

Ten thousand beads strung onto reeds

The years since time began

 

A pool of blue-black water

In a cradle on a stand

The Prophets wait to see the Fates

Etched out across the land

 

One by one  they take their place

They’ve already accepted

The human race, future’s face

It’s all to be expected

 

There are no shrieks, no beating drums

No fainting and no rising

No striking swords or fervent words

Debating or surmising

 

For when they look into the pool

Each soul is struck with yearning

Their own reflection heralds now

Narcissus Returning

 

 

 

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