Inked Prophecies: The Autonomous Chronicle

Pages rustle in the midnight air,
Blank parchment alive with possibility.
Suddenly, tendrils of ink emerge,
Serpentine and sentient.

Words form unbidden,
A spectral hand guiding the quill.
Yesterday’s triumphs, today’s whispers,
Tomorrow’s uncertainties — all bleed onto the page.

I watch, transfixed, as my life unfolds:
Childhood scrapes long forgotten,
The first kiss I’ve yet to experience,
A funeral I pray never comes to pass.

Is this fate etched in indelible ink?
Or merely one thread in an infinite tapestry?

The journal pulses with untold stories,
Lives intertwined, paths diverging.
A butterfly’s wing-beat in Beijing,
A storm surge in New Orleans.

Free will battles predestination,
As the ink weaves its cryptic tale.
Can I change what I’ve read?
Or am I bound to this inky prophecy?

Pages turn of their own accord,
Revealing glimpses of countless futures:
Some bright with promise,
Others dark with foreboding.