Why me?
Out of so many hundreds of people,
why me?

To be born with the Sight is understandable,
It was one of my mother's qualities,
though her's was to a lesser extent..

Why do I know nothing of my father?
Why has my mother told me nothing of him,
was he a man, as other men,
Or was I, as some say,
begotten of the devil?

Why, since the Sight is not isolated
in my mother and myself,
is the God at work in me and not some other?

Ah yes..
The God. In my self-contemplation I had almost forgotten,
Forgotten how people look at me,
No, stare at me, as if expecting me to assume some
monstrous form at any second
and run rampaging about.
If one were to tell them that I am the Devil himself, they would believe it.
The people are frightened of what I am,
of what I have become.

I too, am frightened of what I am,
Frightened of the sheer awesomeness of the Power.
They have no idea what it's like,
when I Prophesy.
The Power, swirling around me and through me,
tossing me about like a leaf in a hurricane,
As the God comes,
rending my flesh to get into me,
and then, having accomplished what He wished,
tearing Himself out in the same
violent manner in which he came.

Afterwards, remembering nothing
of what was said or done,
I am aware only of a slight lingering pain,
then I feel light an hollow, like an angel flying.

Still though, through it all,
lies a deep primordial fear,
A fear of the God and the Power He has over me.

And then, as if to further twist the knife embedded in my chest,
I have "seen" my own end,
I KNOW HOW I DIE.

And I see the deaths of my friends as well.

I see many things,
but the one thing which I cannot see,
is whether this so-called "gift" of mine,
is really a gift,
or whether it is a curse which I must bear
to the end of my days.

09/25/2001

Posted on 09/25/2001
Copyright © 2024 Leandra K Brossard