The Oracle

He pretends it's all right,
as the slight of his hand,
flips through the papers,
hidden deep in his head.

His feet move on slowly,
stepping on cold concrete,
toes avoiding the cracks,
remembering childish dreams.

He thinks of the Oracle,
they said they found her at last,
they said she was beautiful,
but knew none of her past.

She likes walking through moonlight,
and dancing in blood,
as it drips through her fingers,
she forgets the next one.

Her hands move like ice,
crisp but stiff in the flight,
still she wants to as well,
be still and precise.

That is not fate though,
for chance can be cruel,
as it rips away faith,
and pulls you into,
Some shameless dream,
romantics may conjure,
with optimistic intent,
they'll convince you it's true,
but god died so young,
she died through and through.

 So, here's the truth, dreamer:
"I heard they found the Oracle,
they cut her open one day,
out of spite and impatience,
nothing more nothing less.
But the sadder part is,
I heard she bled like a stone."

And so we atone,
for our sins with regret,
we pieced her together again.
We say she'll be fine,
when we see her bandaged and damaged,
but we know all too dearly,
she's doomed to our death.

Reviews

[Richy Moon]

? This is so dark, but what why are they cutting her open? It was good besides that.

[icaros13]

This is deliciously dark. I like your first stanza, "He flips through the papers hidden deep in his head" Good line.