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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Occult · #2333829
A travelling seeress confronts the end... of something.
I travel from town to town,
peddling visions of the future
to anxious passers-by.
I took joy in sharing happy news,
comforting those whose futures shone not so bright.

But gone are the visions of things to come--
the happy, and the sad.
In its place: a cold grey fog that hurts the eyes.

So I stare, blankly, o'er the crystal.

And I lie.
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