Nostradamus
Working late at night,
The seer gazes into time:
Through a water bowl.
In private study,
He trembles in his robe as-
Foresight...fills the room.
Through late night vigils;
Divine splendor set to page:
He foretells of time.
Fanciful visions,
In the countless prophecies;
Bizarre imagery.
One-thousand quatrains,
Layered with lurid details:
Keenly...camouflaged.
Bold...obscure verses,
Flow with brave trepidation:
From a ceaseless quill.
With his astrolabe,
His poetic prophecies-
Speak of disaster.
Visions of dear days,
Recorded on parchment by-
The hand of a sage.
Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment