PROPHETS AND SEERS

PROPHETS AND SEERS

All you prophets and you seers,
Come again some other year.
Go and cry into your beers,
I'll take my chances living here.

Ten years ago, quiet and demure,
You bowed your heads and said I'd be cured.
Five years ago if you'd looked in my eyes,
You'd have predicted my demise.
I can no longer stand your perfumes and crystals,
Your finely aimed creative missiles,
Your tired, dazed rumors of the end.
Go away false prophets all.
I no longer count you as a friend.

I do not like your charlatan robes,
I do not like your pixie dust.
Your delusions and your sleight of hand,
I can no longer trust.

Leave me with a pack of hungry wolves,
At least with them I'm clear,
Where I stand dyed in the wool,
Let all your spells just disappear.
You are so cunning and so quick,
You lay on your wisdom cool and thick,
But I think I know much better,
What to know and to expect.
Your magic spell's a fetter,
Your sorcery imperfect.

All you prophets and you seers,
Predicting it all for sport.
I used to think you were worthy peers,
Considered you a reputable sort.
Now I find you quite a grind to try to comprehend,
Your gold is badly tarnished and your hearts comprised of tin.
You dance for me like Jezebel, messengers sent straight from hell,
You charlatans and cheaters with promises certain,
You are not kindly wizards, just idle men behind the curtain.

Your words they cascade over me, hissing their wanton rhyme.
Thank you all so very much, but I'll live and die in my own sweet time.
All you prophets and you seers, go hang with a self made noose.
Free me from your tyranny and set your prisoner loose.
I will overturn your tables, shred your deck of Tarot cards,
Crash your precious crystal balls into a million tiny shards.
Into my dungeon you have foolishly flown,
I am Samson with his hair regrown.
I will have my victory dance and I will have my recompense,
You will be my pawns by break of dawn, quietly doing penance.

All you purveyors of heartache and hope, 
Go quietly away from here,
You are nothing but rogues and upstarts,
Wily witch doctors with wooden hearts.
Putting forth a talisman like an offering in the quicksand.
Go and cry into your beers,
Crocodile tears bitter and blue.
I have had enough of you,
Prophets and seers, peddlers of fear,
I'll take my chances living here.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED