Cassandra hands on her lap, screams wide :
Ill wind, savage sea, I am coming.
In so many words she tells how
Men are hostages to might
And then holds her breath
For a billion heartbeats.
But history seeps from pin holes,
And drips in ponds where we bathe anew,
And there’s light from the skies
Because there no doubts are
More atoms than stars,
See ? We come from the pool and the brink
And call our fears with names of old english pubs
« The next in line, the bitter end » and then again
Cassandra does not scream always
And when she whispers, says
Men tend to be miserable just enough
For the next catastrophe to unfold.
Image credit : Museum of European Art Barcelona
Frédéric Benqué 