by Alchemist Iris
(a third-eye chakra poem)
I sit with the silence, a violet hue,
Where midnight meets the sacred blue.
The cards are laid — not face nor fate,
But truths disguised as chance and wait.
They call it luck, they call it loss,
But I have learned to see the gloss.
Not just the play, but what it means—
The signs between the silent scenes.
A Queen of Grief, a Joker’s smile,
The hand I’m dealt may take a while.
But in my brow, the eye sees through—
What’s false, what’s real, what I must do.
It’s not the cards that seal my fate,
But how I rise, recalibrate.
I read the deal, decode the feel,
And trust what only sight can heal.
The third eye opens—calm and deep,
Where wisdom wakes and shadows sleep.
Not every card is meant to win,
But every round begins within.
So I won’t fold, or curse the night,
I hold my blue cards to the light.
For what I see is mine to wield—
In every loss, a soul revealed.
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