The Seer

This, will happen, the seer says.
I mock her, teasing, Time will con-test.
No use messing, she smiles with sympathy,
It's your path, your destiny.

Pain and suffering you will endure.
She weeps with foreboding, she is so sure.
Nevertheless, it will be soon and quick.
I give her the cash and laughing, feel sick.

Beneath reigning pruples and reds stacked gravely,
One golden Tarot; I bet on Hope to save me.
She observes her Watch, I take heed and go.
Mind ticking over, seeds now alarmed will sow.

The notion, life among a pack of cards.
Pictures pledging, insight, incite the curiousity lust.
Are you, game, for guidance? What do you, prey, seek?
The Occult's open, but not just for con-sumer week.

Credence given, when only it suits.
Playing the Joker when you pick, and lose.
Dealing with the other-side, against imprinted beliefs.
Then shuffling, eyes closed, to Him, to pray relief.