Tuesday, February 13, 2007

#296: February 13, 2007

Show me your tarot cards and crystal ball
and tell me what the Hanged Man signifies;
give all your fortune-telling friends a call,
for I could use some forward-thinking spies.

Pour out the tea, interrogate the leaves,
teach me to read the line-graphs in my hands;
for Time's a mystery no child believes,
and Death a riddle no one understands.

Because we can't go back and start afresh,
as possibilities grind down to none,
the way we fear a shadow more than flesh
we seek to know the worst, and have it done.

So cast your bones and tell me what they say;
for mine will be as bare and dry, one day.

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