he may be psychic
he may foretell the future...
but the only future he writes
is with a quill and ink...
I may be psychic.
I may foretell the future.
But the only future I write.
Is with a ballpoint pen.
they may be psychic
they may foretell the future...
but their future write
is with a computer tablet...
this future references
future net human societies
therefore it is not applicable
to two lives we ourselves
if born in different places
if born in different times...
if born in different decades
if born in different centuries...
or is it soul purpose applicable
though on a set parallel scale
of timed minimal importance
dominance of earlier soul purpose
visions of artistic output
claim pressing precedence...
intrinsically eye inscribes
mind set sight shock waves...
a prophet
is born
to fulfill
a specific
life
a preordained...
energy
flesh incarnate...
message
is radiated
into beautification
infusing sacred
eternal
life strife...
itself
resolute...
in cycle
of lives
dances
prophecies
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
But when the prophet dies, does the future he predicted die with him? Or live on through our finger and tongues. A choice made, how do we do really if it was mistake with no guidance. A leaderless fortune. A mystery of the deep. Interpretation with our eyes we seek. If we can only understand maybe we can also change it. A disruption in fate. Creating a chosen destiny. We are the ones alive even if it seems like the words are. Following a belief blindly is the mistake of our past. We must move forward and do it fast.