The Poets Without Metaphor

You aren’t normal.

Your heart beats

Just as ours

The rythm alien

and shy of sync

They say you were vaccinated against the world.

You are certainly different, hold still your eyes

Where are your tools to break ice? These waters are deep.

Believe it not, it’s safer under. You’ll freeze to death out here.

Yet, you only shiver in our presence.

I know that’s a riddle.

All of this will be.

So many things are not what they are.

The iris is your event horizon. The pupil, an abyss.

I am but a blur in the cascading light on the rim of awareness.

But I see you looking somewhere. I sense you hearing someone.

There is wonder in your eyes.

What are these beautiful symmetries

this language you comprehend?

Where is this cache

to where your consciousness descends?

You return with gifts.

Of numbers and sound.

Of shape and color.

You return with secrets

whispered by Gaia herself.

The delight you have, when we understand.

When you are sensed and appreciated.

When you take a chance

and meet our gaze

in between blinks

It’s sometimes easier

To pretend you don’t exist

Flowing chemicals and words

That perplex and overwhelm

Unrefluent

But carry you away

Far from the shallows

Where many of us reside

Just below the ice

You are natures

True loves,

Only her eyes

Can you peer into

undress her,

tear at her seems.

And her whispers

You hear

Despite our screaming.

Her beauty, your art.

I know you’re lonely

But not as lonely as I thought

Funny,

The greatest translator of all

no one cares to understand

You are the Poets without metaphor