Prophecies remain, lingering fingers in the sky;
Graces once appointed, enjoin visions open toward transitions
Sealed in stars, joys in recess, and  intercises.  Fixed horizons—juxtapositions
Notwithstanding—reveal what must change while what meets the eye
Is never what it seems to Gaea’s minions while all that rests
Within the heart is changeless. Proffered predictions
Rest so very little on what is even less. Present presumptions
Rise to surface as the dross addressed as judicial guesses, the ever second-best
In crucibles of what must be meet and seemly, enjoyed and preferred
In all sardonic human folly. Surely, victory
Awaits its day if hyperbole loosed wildly within the metaphor is contradictory
And humours meld in reading all this and more in signs. Imbalances are cured
Through judicious ointments in unholy unction and fatuous appointments
Of station realized in any given concert with only minor disappointment.


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