Unable to lie

I cry up front, before Scrooge

like some prophetic sage who's lived too long

who's seen too much of transgressions past

who sees hist'ry's feet walking toward our door

her bones a-glee at the plague to come.

It's a fright to know events before events  

events predictable as sunsets on a cloudy day

to view the scenes of carnage before the would-be-gods

repeat the un-learned truths hist'ry plants along our trails.

Yes, gods we'll be, dread and lead by later gods

till some light blinds the darkness of our fame

light blunt enough to force us see again

the trails of blood  floating 'cross our dilated eyes

coursing through the veins of our vexed delusions;

and the paths upon which our visions collapse

will be salted with the bones of our heroic illusions.

Now I, Wisdom-Woman, unable to lie

close one eye as the other pops open.