Cassandra

A Cassandra deemed Chicken Little
still deciding if I’m a messiah
or a pot identifying a kettle
Whose downfall am I foreseeing
while I transform into a pariah?
No longer a paragon of virtue
yet still a prophet
I saw the Temple laid to waste
and the Gestapo instill a curfew
I just couldn’t stop it.
I heard the war drums before
the drummer was even born
and yet I’m still ignored.
I see no roses, only thorns
as my curse and alleged gift.
I try to hand the gardener a glove
only to be nonchalantly spurned.
Watched bankruptcy mutate from thrift,
and investors jump from high above.
As I walk amongst the living,
I can onlysee their deaths.
Hand in handto tearful, cold and bawling.
Unheeded precognition leaves me lonely;
no one ever seems to understand
To me, the sky is always falling.