She came to me with hooded eyes,
her frank suspicion undisguised,
pushed to the brink, I surmised,
come to hear me prophesize.
Candles flickered in the room,
shadows darting through the gloom,
she smelled of musty, cheap perfume,
I recognized the scent of doom.
My hands caressed the crystal ball,
gazing in, I saw it all,
I tried to make my face a wall,
to shield her from the pain I saw.
What I told, I chose with care,
yet, stunned, she sat back in her chair,
people seem so unprepared,
but why'd they ask, if they're so scared?
She glared at me with baleful ire,
spat at me, called me a liar,
fled as if her hair was on fire,
the psychic life is God's satire.