Oh, Nostradamus, you who saw through time
a world of battles and resolutions,
atrocities and inventions sublime,
conundrums and ultimate solutions,
why couch in mystery all of your truths?
You changed the names, the prophecies obscured,
until only scholars doubling as sleuths
could guess at the revelations you blurred.

Why is it, when you came out of your trance
(reeling from your clarity of vision),
defensiveness became your chosen stance
and obfuscation was your decision,
then, resolving your “magique” would burn us,
consigned the technique books to your furnace?

 
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