The Psychic
I was not born ordinary.
The heavens spoke
before I could.
The Moon in Scorpio—
silent,
watching,
knowing.
The eighth house opened.
And I saw
what others hide.
Pluto stood near.
Saturn beside him.
In the first house—
they marked me.
Since then,
truth has no mask
before my eyes.
When they speak,
I see beneath the words.
Not what is said—
but what is buried.
I bring it forward.
And they fear me.
For I am a mirror.
I return
what they carry.
They whisper—
“still waters run deep.”
I do not whisper.
I am the depth.
Lakes,
seas,
oceans—
they answer to me.
My soul is Plutonian.
I walk where light ends.
In darkness,
I see clearly.
Dreams visit me
before events are born.
Time speaks early
to those who listen.
In another sky,
I rise as Pisces.
The Moon rests in Cancer—
feeling,
remembering,
knowing.
They ask,
“Where do you draw this power?”
I do not hesitate.
I say—
look to the stars
that made me.
Water obeys me.
Fire respects me.
Intensity
is my language.
My eyes—
they do not look.
They penetrate.
They remove the mask.
They reveal the soul.
They ask again,
“Who are you?”
I answer slowly.
Keeper of endings.
Guardian of beginnings.
I walk the underworld
without fear.
For I am not lost in darkness—
I am its witness.
I am the silent universe
where creation begins.
And one truth
I have come to know—
Creation
and destruction
are the same hand.
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