Fuse

Knowing the end
from the beginning–
each second ticking oblivion.

Nearing closer
to scything the heart,
agony building
its infernal time bomb.

Silver lining
won’t douse the fuse—
just make it burn beautiful.

Leagues and hours
speak insidiously,
wreathed in future’s garb.
Solitude’s banner unfurled,
totteringly holding the breeze.

Prophecy’s allure lies
on free will’s intervening cusp.