by Anne Carly Abad
What power is prophecy
when one's mouth
must seal away truth?
spill only riddles
for the sightless
who fumble to read
into
crackling skies
and the intestines
of disemboweled sheep.
There is death, too much
of death
and destinies
so many now unmet
for I am weary of apocalypses
in this world and the next
let them, for what will take place
needs no watchers to wait.
Instead, I will impart
false visions
of trees bearing fruit in famine
and celestials laying down
their swords
to forsake rebellion.
Strife befriends forecast;
the same path, they take.
* * *
Anne Carly Abad has recently been nominated for the Pushcart Prize for her poem "The Bitter Gourd's Fate", which was published by Niteblade. Her work has appeared or will appear in NameL3ss Digest, Apex, and Not One of Us. Find out more about her at http://the-sword-that-speaks.blogspot.com.
People and nature are my muse. I write haiku to celebrate the Earth. Meanwhile, I write form and free form poetry in the hopes of preserving moments and memories with the people I meet. I hope my writing can one day make the world a better place.
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