The future of the few that see,
can be only a distant memory.
A Diagnosis of Death, a book, a wreck.
Does one learn to speak direct?
A Civilization from long past,
found that there people that just could not last.
Extinguished by mystery and left to History,
to tell the tale of woe.
They simply call the Seer's,
a truth without a curse.
The days were filled with doers,
the many stood with movers.
To call upon a stranger,
in days where there is no changer.
You may know you are longing,
for homes that are not charming.
To cut away at writings,
of the many or the few,
it may be in the thousands,
of years for only you.
The name does not escape me.
I see the past straight through.
For I am not to name thee,
my mother found the lieu.
The interesting view,
of the the ones that flew,
so long ago in bless,
is just up to the rest.
Karen A. Placek
