Visionary Grief

I am separate from others.

My mind lives in its own locked room.

I throw out my language rope,

it dangles down from the open window.

Those below stare at its frayed end

hanging high above their heads,

their hands bound by trauma and ego,

masks of misunderstanding

plastered to their faces.

The holy ache for communion

goes once again unmet

as another sleepless night

passes in silence.

My longing creates poetry, songs,

paintings, rebellion,

and infinite madness.

I pray for numbness but, until then,

I need more.

I wonder why we have built broken systems

that continuously render

our communication ineffective.

Capitalism incentivizes deception,

families produce a fear of vulnerability,

tradition preaches stagnation,

privatized educations teach us

that knowledge comes

at an ever increasing price,

one that has been falsely inflated

for reasons of greed.

Some call this clarity,

others cynicism.

But what I hear

as it shouts its own name into the void

is, "Visionary Grief!"

I'm simple seeking the spot

where the veil thins.

Who will I find there?