"The Oracle"

 

Stomping feet and barefoot drums, pour the wine as the oracle comes. In the cave in Delphi she lays and waits, in an echos cave that dissapates. That thatch of laurel in her grip, and chewing leaves a god like trip. Hair that billows is flying high, set upon a nighttime sky. Arms that flail into the wind-midwinter visions call her in.

 

"What does she see?", the women cry, as voices leap and flames go high. "New worlds and kings and setting sails, visions leap a twisted veil. Building bones and stories high, palaces that breach the sky. Men and women dance as one, and three great ships traverse the sun. Visions broken and visions killed as man will move and go and build".

 

"What does she mean?", the crowd will say, as one wipes a worried dream away. The vision seems to take it's toll, and we pour more wine to her stoney bowl. With one mind to think and one she drew, a thatch of laurel leaves to chew. She sweats and maneuvers as her arm go mad, quakes like fury voices had. Cave walls move and tremble and shake the floors , seeping magic toxins from her pores.

 

"It's time to leave now"-her voice did say, "and speak aloud another day".

 

She lays her head and then defers to her crimson bed of silks and furs. Our torches dim and then we hail down the steep and heady trail. I snatch some leaves as I make my way and night is broken by the day. Plucking another, perhaps to save, for the mystic woman inside the cave. Moving to yet who knows when, the oracle comes back again.