Prophet

Prophecy is madness until it comes to pass
wherein madness becomes miracle.
How fine a tension
maintained by the clock's humble hands.
Slowly ticking towards the breaking of action,
the snapping of the linear wire across our first set of eyes.

There is the raving madwoman!
Borne of rock and lava
and will of earth and ocean.
But those maddened lips remain silent
until the properly executed eruption

that is the miracle
coming
to pass.

The prophets;
masters of delayed gratification.
How succulent is the fruit allowed to ripen
slowly.

Oh madwoman, made of flame and ember, grant me your patience.