Be still Cassandra.
Waste not your breath
for man is deaf, and fears little
the ravings of a mad woman.

No, mankind respects only his own
astute judgement, guided by the planets;
those still distant rocks of wisdom,
callously portuning earth’s fortune,
but bearing no burden of solace.

Cry Cassandra.
Wake Apollo from his gracious slumbers;
he who stole your precious gift,
and besmirched your reputation;
cursing all mortals for love spurned.

Rise Apollo, ring earth in golden light and cast aside
your grievance; for man needs guidance,
from those that know.
He strives for enlightenment- a tell-tale sign;
a premonition, some advance warning.
He understands little and believes even less
of the scientific evidence all can see.
Cassandra’s breath, goassamer light
brushes the earth’s stormy surface.
Humanity does not feel, hear, or see.
He is out of tune with his natural world,
oblivious to the new songs.
Yet inately he fears.

Come Apollo. Play fair by mortals.
Loose Cassandra’s tongue, an omen to bequeath
and let these poor creatures be warned.

Blogged with Flock


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