Through the Eyes of a Psychic

I invite you in, through the lens, of my

perception:

	my eyes, leaking tears, shed like
watercolour-paint-blotches upon

my cheeks,

and skin, crinkled with 

the weight of age
and all I’ve seen
through lifetimes.


Think again, I’ll ask before

you come in: just a warning, for

I wonder how
you might cope

to observe, first hand

how your ancestors enslaved me

and burned me at the
stake.


Centuries have passed, yet still I wear

the scars upon
the flesh of my rebirthed spirit

like tattoos they bloom
covering my womb

like a protection against the curse 

of the distorted masculine;
	all those years, humanity
wrapped up in struggle 
for power and conquest 
of all beauty on this Earth.



I know you are different, deep down I know

and yet, the fears still plague me
from time to time
and so forgive me, if I melt

like a dissolving wax statue
beneath the intensity of your gaze
losing my core.


For I am tired
		tired of all, those
years
misunderstood, 
labelled as a 
witch
just because I saw
I knew, I know
how to look beyond the veil
to tell the future from the stars
and call upon the magic

of the skies.


Dare, dare to look –
 
	you said that you wanted.



But remember, remember
how Adam and Eve
fell from their bliss

in the Garden of Eden
	because of their thirst
for the sweet flesh of knowledge
that they didn’t know how

to wield with their hands

and so they lost their way
their vision, blurred

 

	the sight of the Light

and the memories of the Night

all too much

for their eyes
to bear.