I have foreseen my Oracle,
In which The Lover displays,
Such a boisterous spear,
And The Priestess rests
On her altar,
To attract new lightings;
Water & air are,
Such a hand,
That grabs a chalice,
To put it
On the right Ark,
And my flesh is,
Like a dancer who
Summons the intermezzo,
Between Dark & Light;
No more nails are spread,
Across the land,
For The Hunter still waits,
To cut off his prey's head;
No more words are lost,
In the twilight,
For the rain does not cry,
To see how plants die;
The Sky is about to pronounce,
His last syllables,
To let us all know,
How a true Balance works.