The Blind Seer

The shower holds my tears at bay
The mist that swallows me
Each drop that falls is washed away
Rain spills into the sea

I call above because He knows
At times I feel alone
My budding flowers never grow
Too dull a shriek and moan

An empty plate, a hungry mouth
A tongue twisted to taste
I seek comfort from morphing clouds
A heart beating to waste

A dying rose trapped in the zoo
No Sun to start the meal
My emptiness is nothing new
Sharp thorns are all I feel

A queen that shouts, “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!”
A king outwardly mute
A swallowed dream, an empty bed
A gun made not to shoot

My pool of joy could lead to shore
My dance could change the game
My demons wish to be adored
My feet backwards again

The flames that burn ask Him to rise
A coward proven wrong
A drowning myth stuck on reprise
I march, you play the song

I wrestle pain that’s buried deep
A loss each time I win
I climb a peak that’s stilted steep
Repentance for lost sin

A craved enigma I dare solve
The depth of seeking light
A champion of shallow gall
A dead-man’s will to fight

My pages turn to form a book
My blood shifts into ink
My heavy head can’t stand to look
My eyes dry near the sink


Thomas Feliciano's picture

As an artist by nature, and a romantic by trade, poetry is the logical medium for Feliciano to express himself. His poetic style is a hodgepodge: basically whatever escapes the pen. Also a hip-hop musician, as well as a writer of short stories and novels, journalism, screenplays, translation, and amateur philosophy, writing seems to be his closest friend in a world of so many conflicting emotions. He does not limit himself to the page, however. Also a political activist, student of language, and an inquisitive mind that peers into thought from every angle, he is not an artist for the sake of art, but rather for the sake of the world., Most of his poetic works can be found at the website:,

Last updated October 21, 2011