The Eye-Mote
Chaste as sunshine I stood looking
At a field of ponies, necks twisted, manes blown,
Tails gushing against the green
Scenery of sycamores. Sun was striking
White house of prayer zeniths over the rooftops,
Holding the ponies, the mists, the leaves
Consistently established however they were all streaming
Away to one side like reeds in an ocean
At the point when the fragment flew in and stuck my eye,
Needling it dull. At that point I was seeing
A merging of shapes in a hot downpour:
Steeds twisted on the modifying green,
Stunning as twofold bumped camels or unicorns,
Brushing at the edges of a terrible monochrome,
Mammoths of desert garden, a superior time.
Rubbing my cover, the little grain consumes:
Red soot around which I myself,
Ponies, planets and towers rotate.
Neither tears nor the facilitating flush
Of eyebaths can unseat the bit:
It sticks, and it has stuck seven days:
I wear the present tingle for substance,
Incognizant in regards to what will be and what was.
I dream that I am Oedipus.
What I need back is the thing that I was
Prior to the bed, before the blade,
Before the clasp stick and the treatment
Fixed me in this bracket;
Steeds familiar with the breeze,
A spot, a period left mine
Hello! I find your post valuable for the wafrica community! Thanks for the great post! We encourage and support quality contents and projects from the West African region.
Do you have a suggestion, concern or want to appear as a guest author on WAfrica, join our discord server and discuss with a member of our curation team.
Don't forget to join us every Sunday by 20:30GMT for our Sunday WAFRO party on our discord channel. Thank you.
Thanks for using eSteem!
Your post has been voted as a part of eSteem encouragement program. Keep up the good work! Install Android, iOS Mobile app or Windows, Mac, Linux Surfer app, if you haven't already!
Learn more: https://esteem.app
Join our discord: https://discord.gg/8eHupPq