the boy with the coffee-coloured
eyes tells me that writers are prophets:
he points out times when they
have described futures beyond
their time all-too-well -
he lists a few of my favorites:
fitzgerald. bradbury. orwell.
they painted tragedy before
the colors or the canvas
could decide whether or not they were
destined to portray calamity
but i want to know:
do a writer’s words possess the
keen gift of Sight, or are they merely
the result of an inclination towards observation?
are their predictions prophecy
or the product of attentive perception?
does a writer understand the future
as well as the future understands the writer?
i want to know
what the grasshoppers tell you
as you lay your head against
the cool ground, losing your
identity to the night
i want to know
what the stars say to you when your
eyes plead with them, begging for
a wish that still hasn’t come true
i want to know
what the clouds feel when you
wake up in the morning and rub
hope out of your eyes, splash
truth onto your face again
and again, until finally, you
give up and find refuge
back on the forest floor
i want to know
what crosses your mind as you
sit and wait for moonlight
to save you
i want to know
why you dream only after dark
but hardly ever in the day
i want to know
why sunlight
isn’t enough
for your dreams
to come true
