"The Gift of Sight"

The gods in Heaven, in their angst,
Create a tempest.
Their hands thrown up in exasperation,
Collectively create a fervent chasm of electricity,
Unbridled and demanding. 
In their debate, they exchange blows so wicked 
As to rattle the earth below,
Their baited breath, uncontained, 
To the determent of the sea. 
Upon witnessing the destruction of their contempt,
Tears fall from the stars
In a flood that serves to create raging rivers 
With a force that separates the earth.
They are contemptuous and fearless 
And care not for their victims
Until sight becomes a greater force than them 
And communication has no other option 
Than to be superfluous 
And sight the only necessary sense.

Sight becomes the gift of the gods,
For to see our destruction, our glory, ourselves. 
Each other. 
I can no longer remember the taste of your breath, 
The feel of your touch, the scent of your skin, 
Nor can I hear your voice inside of my soul.
Is this what angers the gods in Heaven? 
Is this why they bless me with the gift of sight? 
To see you so completely, I am blinded by your pain... 
There is great beauty in your silence, 
The gift of sight my solemn breath.

 -a poem by Deannalynn Arzola