The Girl with Seven Senses

The wise blood pulsed within her veins

First the sixth sense and then the seventh

Her mind was sick of self taught lessons

The clock struck the tenth hour, and then the eleventh.

 

Her eyes saw colors their’s could not

But names had she not for their description

The tint of wind and the hue of water

They thought it her dumb and idiot invention.

 

She heard noise when they were deaf

But she could not record or imitate the sound

The music of stones and the language of trees

They would not listen, for they spoke too loud.

 

She felt what they were too calloused too feel

But she could not weigh or measure the touch

The texture of thought and the surface of dreams

They said it was madness and dismissed it as such.

 

She smelled the fragrances they could not smell

But she had no perfume or cologne to match

The stench of pain and the scent of hope

They called her foolish, said her mind had been snatched.

 

Her tounge tasted tastes that theirs could not

But no herb could she find to imitate the flavors

The spice of music and the tang of peace

They said it was merely her tears she savored. 

 

Her heart had taught her everything

Her mind to see, her nerves to feel

She’d wished for a prophet, a teacher, a sage

To show her that all that she knew was real.

 

But no philosopher would second her claim

No scientist back her with reasearch and facts

Her teachers all mocked her, laughed in her face

And so she fell silent to cease their attacks.

 

Her newfound knowledge boiled within

Bombarded, her mind was over wrought

She sank into despair with hardening heart

Lost without a soul with which to share her thought

 

As the clock struck the twelfth with a deafening clang

She stepped to the ledge and looked to the sky

A last sigh to the world, she drew a deep breath

And in silence the seven-sensed girl leapt to die.

 

Reviews

[...]

. this is a masterpiece ... superbly written and narrated ... your poetic voice resounds ... this is not a review ... i'm just sharing my thoughts with you ... i've experienced severe suicidal tendencies in the past ... i was subjected to a lot of abuse by a lot of people ... what i feared the most was abandonment and isolation ... and it came to me ... thought i did not have any special skills which were misunderstood ... i was misunderstood ... terribly, terribly misunderstood ... i literally wrote my way out of misery ... and ... from someone who couldn't stand life ... i became someone who was life ... without my quite realizing it ... i don't agree with the concept of committing suicide ... but feeling suicidal is real ... not being understood is excruciating ... i've written a lot of poems expressing those feelings ... it's one way of transcending them ... expression always leads to freedom from repression and oppression ... so, i think that this post is a masterpiece ... it expresses a lot that i can relate to ... and it does so brilliantly ...

[Lindsay]

this could be the anthem of the introvert. good work.

[Celestial Witch Child]

Beautiful. Though I do believe I would like to see a version of this that did not rhyme.

[Patient Poet (Yos)]

What a story tale , your words flow so beautifully .... this is just great .... I love yoru Poetry :) Yossi

[R J Askew]

Ach, the feyness of poets! Of course the rationalists and scientists can never understand us. Perpahs that is why Plato wanted no poets in his ideal state.

I esp like 'The music of stones and the language of trees' which remindes me of a passage in 'As You Like It'.

The penultimate verse is very sad. But we are here to listen! Being different is a cause for celebration because the different are endowed with rare gifts often.