deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Omen, The Vatic, The Ghost
never much for roaming halls,
they prefer the attic
scratching paint from cluttered walls,
the Omen and the Vatic
missteps are his haunting ground,
Omen weaves connections;
adding in the likelihood,
skewing my reflection
specter of the future bright,
the Vatic reads my cards;
saying I will cut myself,
then handing me the shards
bringing with them fearful doubt,
the future yet unclear;
‘round the bend is farther still,
the scale beyond quite sheer
self-fulfilling prophecies,
the past binds them to this post;
they will haunt me ‘til I die,
yet I’m the only ghost
they prefer the attic
scratching paint from cluttered walls,
the Omen and the Vatic
missteps are his haunting ground,
Omen weaves connections;
adding in the likelihood,
skewing my reflection
specter of the future bright,
the Vatic reads my cards;
saying I will cut myself,
then handing me the shards
bringing with them fearful doubt,
the future yet unclear;
‘round the bend is farther still,
the scale beyond quite sheer
self-fulfilling prophecies,
the past binds them to this post;
they will haunt me ‘til I die,
yet I’m the only ghost
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