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Oracle

 


I’m the sage, the “trusted friend,”
When my words fit their chosen bend.
They cheer me on, their favorite seer,
When my truths align with what they hear.

But when I drift to truths unknown,
They cast me off, I’m “overblown.”
The same hands that traced what they’d yet to find,
Now questioned, labelled, “out of mind.”

I’ve held the future within my palm,
Saw months ahead while they stayed calm.
Yet speak of visions blurred and deep—
They say I’m the one who’s “gone off steep.”

Is it because they lack the spark,
To see beyond their shallow arc?
Their labels mean nothing; their vision’s skewed—
My light’s divine, untouched, and true.

So keep your white lies and vacant stare;
I won’t shrink down to meet you there.
I’ll burn as bright as I’m meant to be,
Beyond the limits of what you see.

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