Passing of the Seer

[smokingboot]

They bathed the wild wood off my skin,
And combed my hair saying
'She'll prophesy no more, she'll sit
In the lemon scented sun under a tree.
Wanting for nothing.'

Then I let the blackbirds come
To eat berries out of my mouth
If the moon was nearby I shrugged
Untangling my hair from its horns
Saying nothing because
What's left to say?

Babies. A war.
Being in love.
The cruel gods.
And you yourself will sing
to me of your death.

To the Calling Realm
Not to bring something back
For the people have all
They need and know it
The hare lies down beside me
A man of the sea bids me sail
I am not even dreaming as
The dawn touches my feet.