"omnidirectional" poems
The minds eye is omnidirectional.
It can see hopes and dreams.
It is the ultimate source of human creativity.
But it also can be the source of anguish, fear and rejection.
At times it is flawless, yet at others it is completely flawed.
The third eye is always blind.
It is fixed, not seeing the surrounding truthfulness, and often provides a singular view.
This eye sees the convoluted future and fails to see the past.
The eye of complete truth and accuracy is the Hindsight Eye. As is known, " Hindsight is 20/20 " and of perfect vision.
It is by far the eye of beauty, revelation and what the hell was I thinking.
It is the revealed truth and lies.
Liar's, keeper of secrets, they fear this eye the most.
We as humans, are equipped usually with vision.
Some see more then others.
Some are also clairvoyant, prediction of future, or worldly events, not normally recognizes vision.
Other people think they see something as truth. Oftentimes these are obscure and closer to fabricated visions of insanity.
I See... ...says the all seeing eye.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
Her crisp vocals paint paths, long poised by me.
Her beauty is a reality where my ecosystem drives.
Her omnidirectional audio reads every touch and feels every string.
Her heart-bytes pump voltage in my device(veins).
Her smartness is a safe place, where I shut down.
© Feelings Coated
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 7:49 AM UTC
An uncanny and unfamiliar view: the sun gazing over the Sperrins.
Light granted sight and in the
smarting, sticky glow of day the range seemed endless.
Every peak,
protruding from plate like
vertebrae of the obscene Oilliphéist, aspired to pierce the clouds (had there been any) and
swelling like the ego of that Boeotian hunter, set Olympus and Rheasilvia to blushes.
An omnidirectional parsec of perpetual nihility that,
swallowing the senses,
renders proprioception void.
Everything suspended for a second or century under the watch of that inert sentinel, whose
magnitude mirrored the Cosmic Turtle.
Say some stray tenant of Mountsandel
had wandered through these ancient fields and looked, as I do, upon the eminence of this glen;
From now til then, this Precambrian master had aged but a second.
Words are feeble against this primordial Schist and cannot hope to evoke it.
But all perceived as hard then shifts; I see the hulk in its youth suffering
the divorce of Rodinia; drifting further from its peers – drowning.
Even now the car traced the scar carved in the little pinnacle.
Granted, it bore us tourists stoically on
Granite too pure for poetry.
Yet still I see, as clear as Sawel, the young stone struggling to breathe the noxious air;
Freezing and thawing with the trends of the earth and
Bearing it all alone.
No wonder it had become catatonic.
How fitting, that every traveller on their
commute between the Pillars of the North,
should be forced to stare
Eden
in the eyes and acknowledge
where
earth began.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
Delve deeper
You’ll find it
And with it become
A superior being
United as one
In the same sullen joy
Of a troubled existence
In questions conflicting
Our consciousness prisms
Envisioning simple’s complexity nexus
An omnidirectional
Path to perfection
Intended by makers
Conceived in belief
That we are in fact more
Than a lifetime of grief
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 12:06 AM UTC