If I told you I had seen it already,
You’d have told me I was full of ****.
The joy, the future for each of you,
And the secret that there was more to it.
In a vision, you held an infant child,
A happy but confusing sight.
Confusing in stillness , nothing said,
And happy because it was obviously right.
Another vision, and you were at risk,
I slept on your floor to keep you from harm.
Just a glance on waking, still nothing said,
A smile before leaving, as you touched my arm.
In one surreal vision, you actually killed me.
(I never really understood that one…)
I even loved you for what you had done,
Maybe it was some kind of metaphor,
Some kind of mercy?
I honestly couldn’t say and, trust me,
I love a good metaphor.
You know what was really frightening, though?
How clear the next vision was.
It was light and joy, it was love itself, fulfilled.
And it horrified me to see it,
Right in the palm of my hand.
An old familiar face looked down and laughed.
She told me, “they are all in trouble now…”
“Precarious balance, and one is in real danger…”
“Best not **** it up…!”
And she laughed so hard I thought she’d **** herself.
If those kind of creatures even do that…
I honestly couldn’t say and, trust me,
I’m not afraid to ask her.
But one vision shook me when it proved true.
So many visions from the smallest of clues.
I didn’t mean to get close, or look for connections,
I just wanted to learn and seek the reflection.
To know, and to laugh,
With someone like you.
Share a table, a cup,
and a secret or two.
But the seer would see how our lines became crossed,
She spoke much of love, of a life and it’s loss.
She spoke of how my role,
Would be monumental,
Expendable, Trivial, but still…
Instrumental.
I grew angry at how she manipulates me,
One alien and his hard-won humanity.
But the seer was right, I would have to go,
Leave the scene and assure that
No one could know.
I created the door that it may be sealed,
And retreated to the opposite side,
Where I would be hated or feared, maybe both,
And none could ever know,
How, quietly, I cried.
In deep cover, the operative blends in at considerable risk. Their superiors know this, though, and choose carefully those with the resilience to not lose themselves in the task at hand.
When the seer herself asked me to mediate a nearly lost blood line, I felt a multitude of feelings. I would feign affection, gain trust, and work with only crackpot visions to instruct me. she believed in me, though. Despite the guilt and deception, I trusted the program and, above all, the seer’s choice of operatives.
