Forty days and five years ago, you said dunsinane would never come to Birnam

and a good woman born of a good family would live the life I wanted.

you tried to save me from my fate with tragic truth.

like a wild-eyed prophet eating honey and locusts, you tried to give me five years of life before I forsook your sooth

I rejected your doom, living with hope for 1800 days.

I believe you now.

that’s the trouble with prophecy—it doesn’t help to know your fate. whether you try to change it or accept it, you’re left without a life to live. Without love. Without hope.

and Tiresias is left Knowing he was right. But alone.

what good can Sight do when blind fools won’t listen.

600 337 Stafford Wood
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