ome believe it's a blessing
some swear it's a curse,
this I that looks out at the world
and in at the universe,
hearing itself
like a rhythmic recital of verse.

At a sentinel's post
is this Listener's place,
bound by the ebony edges of space,
guarding a meeting of voices
unfeatured
by name or by face.


Sworn to discovery
committed to each small clue
with each answer a question
re-born in each mind ever-new
seeks this ageless inquiry
discerning the false from the true.

With integrity
pledged to upholding ideal's demands
in determined pursuit
of what everyone's heart understands
sweeps the whirr of mind's gathering
inward, across other lands.


A precarious balance
this Listener's perch,
trying to find where to follow
and see where to search
on this mind-jarring journey through time
past life's stammer and lurch.

The interpreter's judgement
entrusted
transcends past each cause,
translating each message
each vision, each action and pause
in the personal court of reality's nature
and laws.


On a chronicled journey
where time disappears
in a journal of joys and hopes and fears,
the Listener records
what she can
of the voices she hears.