I became the shadow of a swarm of crows,
My bones became runes,
My limbs became twigs,
My memories were drenched in tarot’s shapes and symbols.
My sight narrowed its focus,
I see the signs
In palms, in flights, in winds and storms…
In decks and entrails.
Providence robbed me of common sight,
Made me blind so I could see
Beyond.
Thus, I see them,
The tokens, the omens, the harbingers,
The heralds and signs…
I am hollowed out,
Empty
My sorrows are not my own,
My life has slipped away.
My memories are shards
Fragments from future, present and past
Broken into a glass carpet
Of mist and whispers.
I am nothing more than a pair of eyes,
A tool to see and interpret.
To many I am even less,
A madman, a conman, a fool, a fraud.
What use is sight if blindness persists
In those for whom the signs were sent?
The sceptics, those who denial
Has mastered…
I am nothing in this age.
A blind man drifting
In an ocean of blindness.