Why have you come to me with questions of your life?
Asking of what foot placements will better your stride.
You beg me to ask the Prophet of which events you can tame,
And for me to write his words in a poem, in your name.
The universe expands rift as you expound your shame.
You say the Prophets vision won't be true unless my paper I have stained.
You ask me to write you a better path, one that will suit you,
But the Prophet is no puppet master and puppets I refute you.
My old friend the Prophet wastes no visions on those who are blind,
And I can sense why you yearn for my lines; I can feel you've been unkind.
Watch your tongue; you say your downfall has only us to blame?
I'll spare you only one verse of wisdom, the secret to our game.
The Poet and the Prophet are one in same.