The Seer of the Word

He comes in silence
Lightness, incandescent intensity
Covered by ethereal shadows
He ponders while watching
As if to weigh my soul
An apprenticed wordsmith
Concentrating on words
Their place, their texture
Hue and colour
Their tautness and their tightness
Their rhyming sequence
The beat and thrum of verse
The beauty of imagery
Rawness of sentiment
These things that take my time
He is unperturbed
By concentrations determination
Unimpressed by effort and will
He stands and listens
To the stillness
And pointing between the words
To spaces
To galaxies of emptiness
And universal hollowness
He raises a questioning eye
I know the question he asks of me
He asks of every Seer
Have we endured the spaces of our soul?
And journeyed through the galaxies of our pain?
Have we stood in ecstasy at universal beauty and joy?
For we who fill the spaces with our words
And capture butterfly emotions
Then pin them down with heavy words
We who are the Seers of words

Must first have stood in Silence.

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