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 Language of Visionaries
I am swimming in the sea of symbols
Dream symbols
I am an artist & poet
This is my Pallet,
My language…

Her fingers
Long, young, and thin
Grazed the white paint chipped
Door frame
& I became aware
of how timeless
and perfect the moment
was, is, in memory
how it would stretch out
forever in time,
those fingers
and her,
how both would
never be the same
as this eternal

Walking in the room
Walls and ceiling covered
In mirrors, floors in the
Color of passion
And lust,
Red as fire engines
And candied apples,
The bed the center
Of the mirrored world,
Closed in and claustrophobic
When the mirrors should have
Created the opposite
I could not leave it be…
I lit sage & holy fire
Set the mirrors
Blessed and sealed
To all things negative,
Above and below,
 Sending the energies
Into earth
And back out
Into shields
To make safe space…
I slept watching
The geometric patterns
In the air,
Stars, triangles, and hooks,
While red hooded figures
Looked on beside white lighters…
I know not who they are.

Then from out of the void
The wash of a tsunami
Suffering and changes
Carrying with it
Human emotions
And the cry of an entire
I didn't feel such a thing
When the tsunami hit
Asian oceans
Nor when Haiti came under
The earthquake
I didn't feel such a thing
When Katrina wiped out
New Orleans
So whatever it is…
That is not yet here,
I fear will be greater,
And it sits there
Like a great maw
Teeth grinding bones
Without mercy
Puss oozing
Without discretion…

Yet having Vision
Doesn't save the visionary
From the Vision

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