Alexander Thomas

Prophecy - Poem by Alexander Thomas

The moon waxed and waned and put to bed,
With time grief passed and the tears shed,
From seven times Earth round the Sun gone,
The glimmer of a rekindled memory shone.

After the heavy hanging mists lifted,
I realized how in time I had been shifted,
Like the bat through the night to migrate,
From the haze of sleep to a future date.

From the bare bones of a revelatory dream,
The day appears to be more than would seem,
A vision that fits like a picture in a frame,
And a story which continues onto fame.

And I lament myself,
Beware the tale of old Macbeth,
Prophecy the source of madness and death,
A spectre to haunt until the last breath.
But I comfort myself,
That the purpose of this vision of the night,
Is to give us freedom with the stories that we write,
Because if we want the future is always bright.

Except once crystallizes the delirious belief,
Until the day of reckoning no possible relief,
As the pieces of a predestined story assemble,
Under the weight it makes my mind tremble.

I ask how in hallowed name this could be,
What impossible magic and clever trickery,
Free will taken away and nothing to chance,
Can there be any choice in how we advance.

Divine poetry the lesson for you and me,
As I continue to walk bemused into the sea,
Into the horizon to the point of no return,
Onto a fate from which we can never learn.

And I lament myself,
Caution at the tale of Romeo and Juliet,
To destined tragedy their inflamed romance met,
To destruction the flutter of their hearts' set.
But I comfort myself,
That the purpose of this vision of the night,
Is to let the wings of imagination take flight,
And onto life to shine a light.

Ever higher do I build the funeral pyre,
Going round in a wider circle of fire,
The wind of prophecy a tormenting curse,
To which with one lifetime we can't rehearse.

The interpretation of dreams distorted,
Frustrated ever more my face contorted,
In the midst of this waking nightmare,
Grappling for meaning at my hair I tear.

Two roads ahead with one a dead end,
The other the purpose why dreams descend,
I pray there is one who holds the key,
But if they choose silence a tragedy it could be.

And I lament myself,
Remember the tale of old King Lear,
Dividing your realm will lead only to what you fear,
To a hurricane of ruin fate will steer.
But I comfort myself,
That the purpose of this vision of the night,
Is to bring the clouded future more lucidly into sight,
So that with clarity we can get it right.

Approaching a self-fulfilling fate,
As the curiosity becomes too great,
The pages pour out in a long ream,
As my burning soul I try to redeem.

The pen bowing beneath divine majesty,
Writing a tale that could well be a tragedy,
But in reality we all prefer a happy ending,
So to this destiny the script I am amending.

If we cannot choose the way we want to live,
Each other we must understand, love and forgive,
I agonize to free this crushing burden on my chest,
So that when the dust settles in peace it will rest.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, February 19, 2014

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