Cassandra’s Cousin

There was one prophet who was safe
From his own prophecy. He saw
A sorrow, a grave disaster

Visited upon not millions
But billions of human beings,
Trillions of other lives as well,

Yet he foresaw this disaster
Would narrowly spare the planet
Without any action at all—

He suffered seeing the vision,
But it was a horror that would be
Averted, and none but him know.

And so he did not have to preach,
Nor lead himself to martyrdom.
In his later years he wondered

Sometimes, late at night by the fire,
Why it had been given to him
To know the horror and to know

How close to all life it would come—
What could be the use of silence
In a prophet? By not preaching,

Had he somehow caused things to swerve?
He had no followers, of course.
Even God didn’t talk to him.