Third Eye
Every life ends with whispers of depression.
Last night,
I looked myself through the broken mirror and I wasn't me.
I wasn't myself.
Something was missing.
Something that hold the power of not only reflection but words of life.
It was the third eye which was missing.
If I had third the eye,
I would turn stone to dust,
sting storm to ease,
grow crops in the desert,
command the wheel of time,
turn disciples to multitudes,
crowd stories to legends,
and crowd dreams to legacies
But friends,
If my poems could write back,
You could have turn rocks looking the for the third eye.
You could have fought famous battles just for the third eye.
You could have gone beneath the surface for the third eye.
You could have gone to the edge of the earth just for the third eye.
Your hymns could tear the temple in to pieces of joy,
mend the cracks on the face of the wounded earth
and pull strings to the winds.
But,
How I wish you know that the third eye can bury depression teen feet under.
How I wish you know that the third eye can break the chains of self-doubt.
How I wish you know that the third eye can turn words to life,
give hope even when the nation bleeds,
when dark times consume all that matters,
and how I really wish,…
how I really wish you know that the third eye is you.
Author: Mooch Simom
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