Tears Of A Prophet

I was once told
that I have eyes that look like they’ve seen the birth
of prophecies
the death
of dynasties
the re-incarnation
of majestic memories
and I smiled slightly,
if you only knew half the things me and my eyes have been through,
I’ve seen dreams disintegrate in the hands
of the poet prophetess that stands before
these hands
have crafted intricately iniquitous masterpieces
that have snatched the limelit stars from premature eyes
I’ve witness buds
prematurely reproducing blossoms that wither and die before their time
I have crow’s feet,
caused by the truth clawing to pull the rose colored tint from my souls windows
my irises
are old
and their petals have already begun to fade
losing their clarity
but still witnessing
catastrophes
that make them they not want to see anymore
maybe that’s why I started losing my eyesight at the age of 9
given glasses
to mask this
fact that wisdom is harnessed in the bags beneath my eyes
swollen with knowledge before their time
The dentist even tells me that my wisdom grows in precocious and slightly crooked
and will have to be snatched from me
my third eye wonders casually back to the day before my conception
back to the lives I lived before my mother’s name was Valerie
my soul carries crevices deep enough to hold oceans and galaxies
born a senior citizen trapped in the mind frame of a baby
To young to understand that I was birthed for greatness
Blessed with the curses of seeing thing for what they really are,
the old for who they were
and dreams of what will come.
Maybe that’s why shatter these mic’s seems like de ja vu
I’ve done this before
I’ve painted masterpieces before
Birthed prophets before
Saved lives before
I’ve died before
My face carries time in its shadows
stories of the damned are found in the wrinkles of my brow
the sands of time are pressed in my laugh lines
and the fire that is released from these lips forms glass in the form of spit
my words produce daggers that rip through cochlea
causes ink to shed from eyes
and cuts souls free from their self-captivity
Poetry is written transparently on my corneas
So I see through metaphors
Sing similes sweetly through my breathing
My looks kill
murder anything that might be seen as obscene
or unworthy of my words
my diction can leave you BIC whipped
on pen tips
and my eyes can give you whip lash
from how fast you’ll catch death stares
or loving glances
I’m the reason they give most hurricanes
female names
there is peace hidden in the center of my eyes
but when I cry
the angry tears that fall from my face wash away
ignorant innocence and leave the turmoil of truth in it’s place
whirling around the mind
translating earth quakes down the spine
I’ll leave you shaking
so let the first tear that falls from my eyes
be your flashflood warning ‘cause
you wont be able to stop it
once the flood gates are open
I’ll drown you in truth
my eyes rain down
tears…
of a prophet