All Oracles Are Cassandras. Ignore Them. Please.

I am the winged shadow
telling you to ignore me,
but not yourself.
“At your peril,”
I squeak,
“Attend to thyself.”
Do the invisible work
Of reading and writing and living
For yourself.
Build and share
a sim
of that life.
Vouchsafe remembrance.
Observe and smell and listen and touch and taste
it
Because it is this
Brittle
Winter
Deep-shadowed light
That is most memorable.
Or so I say
And what of that?
Make none of that.
Accept your own.