Prophecy of Thetis

Until his name becomes a towering edifice of its own,
Where its fog whispers through matcha cups and coffee,
Establishes a gravitational field of its own,
Without the illusive, muddying reliance of prestigious titles or hollow trophies.

And so the chain of events start to make sense.
The curse of the one room apartment you called the philosopher’s desolation land
Morphs into the delusional, egotistical belief that you are a cosmic fluke.
But it’s quite a gamble because those are the same words of a disgraced madman.

Deep down he feels he wasn’t supposed to make it this far
That it all happened for an subterranean reason.