Prophet

I am the prophet of my own demise
The blower of my own disguise
The architect of my own destruction
The shoddy builder of this unstable construction

I am the General of my own loss
The adviser who refused to count the cost
The Foolish king who fought on when all was lost
Who refused the crown and the cross

I am the reaper of this forlorn field
The harvester of this diminished yield
But I am the sower of all the tares
And share in the fruit of what I planted there

I am the one who did not listen
Who sought the wisdom of all that would glisten
The daughter of the passing trade
I am the beauty born to fade

I am the solace found in beer
I am the wonderer of how I got here
I’m the morning after the night of cheer
I am become all that I fear

I am the one who was born this way
Amidst the riches of straw and hay
Who looked out as king at the dawn of day
The blindfold Lord of all I survey