Prophecies cross fingers in the sky
And linger long enough to point toward transitions
Sealed in stars on all horizons, premonitions and suppositions,
They say. What is must change while what meets the eye
Is never what it seems and never was while all that rests
Within the heart is changeless. Proffered predictions
Rest so very little in the mists of silence. Recent predilections
Rise to the surface of the broth as dross, the tests
Within the crucible of what is enjoyed or may be endured
Accumulates in sardonic human folly. Surely, victory
Can wait another day if runes are contradictory
And humours even less in every reading. Imbalances are secured
Through judicious decision anointed in newly inked ointments
Realized in auspicious concert with but minor disappointment.                        


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