Ode To Nostradamus

I see it, I see it, Clairvoyant possibly. A word to the wise, I believe I can see. To my unborn son I wish better things Than this vision of hell and the fate that it brings. I peer into the water, Divining rod in hand, Ocean tides flowing Over bloody-red sand. A pain in my heart, The eye wet with tear. A chill in thy spine, This future so near. The voyeur is chosen, The task up to me. My eyes have grown tired. The vision goes free.