deepundergroundpoetry.com

Prophecies: The Hanged Man

O Seer, in hands upturned now read:
that naught is thine, yet all for thee.
Which to the lock in thy chest is key--
of cards, the Twelve or Thirty Three?

What rest suspends thy grievance, Seer,
in branch and needle of these trees
shall be as much a scourge to thee
as capture to the starving free.

Count not thy sorrows, nor thy days,
let not thy heart the storm gale sway.
Unto thine Oathéd look, and pray;
thou shalt not fall. Nay, not this way.
spdred
Written by spdred (spidey)
Published
Author's Note
dread with a touch of hope. or vice versa.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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