The oracle walks up candlelit stairs

Sits cross legged at my feet

Washes them with a crystal ball cleaning cloth

Could your third eye not tell you what I will

The past is for historians

I do not have fossils under my finger nails

The present is for the lovers

I do not fall Iā€™m too grateful for the graceful

The future is for you

What does a candle need to see but its own flame

Oracle! Oh, Oracle!

Yes it is hard to examine oneself

When one is burning alive



Published at The Wagon Magazine