Dear Prophecy,
Where will this take me, am I on the right path or just flaying away for nothing? I look to the shamans, the gypsies and mystics, those who peer intently into my palms, deal the cards and toss the runes onto the ground. Are they looking into my future, my true future or are just as confused as we all are? I look to the mist shrouded mountain and the thin places all seeking my purpose in the confusion that surrounds me, yet the silence deafens my soul.

Prophecy, what does the future hold or do you keep that a secret, held close less I find the key and unlock the very mystery you hold so dear. The ancients sought you in the mystical caves or in incense filled temples grasping for any word, any clue, yet you spoke in riddles and continue to hold the secret. I seek you in the daily life, in the eyes and words of those I meet along the way, many of whom seek the same from you, truth and not riddles. 

Yet, what is truth, that age old question where belief and faith intersect, where we see through a glass darkly and move along paths littered with the remains of broken dreams. Prophecy, even kings, emperors, the rich and powerful have never pulled back the veil you keep in place, what then can I do, one so poor in that which is needed to uncover fate. 

Prophecy, what will I leave this world with, will my impression leave a mark or will I just float away, a wisp of a shadow, a breath that goes out never to return? 


Yours truly, a wandering spirit.

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