Gifts do tend to come in dyads;

one need only ask Midas. 

 

The gods bestow in seeming goodwill, 

like the falcon feigns its fellowship. 

 

And so, Cassandra is stuck

in a conundrum of luck,

blessed with sight by others unseen, 

yet cursed to never be believed. 

 

Indeed, one might end up as fodder

for a divine mortar and pestle, 

and what purports to be deliverance,

could well be comeuppance, 

or dire circumstance...