The Middle Eye Poem by Ann Beard

Adjusting to light behind the middle eye,
age, becomes a stretching of all ties.
Pink shutters fall on mortal sight,
as instinct beckons complex flight,
and soft words ride a murmur or a sigh.

One could easily submit, be led astray,
as the need for solitude enters a dream.
But being deaf to mortal sound,
the spirit wakes to look around.
Earth- time, is just a thought that floats away.

The bloodied soil and sound of mothers wailing
Lives shattering while trying to forgive.
The eye becomes a classroom,
tranquillity the perfume.
Today my task - compassion for those failing.

The eye is unconcerned with death, as though,
the prize is in a fleeting chance to be.
As we mimic airborne fungi spores,
invading soil on distant shores.
Then falling layer on layer, like flakes of snow.

Capricious threads of delicacy, you and I.
Quite beautiful, stripped of all pretence.
That one day will disintegrate,
join other flecks of love and hate.
Slip back into eternity behind the middle eye.

Adjusting to light behind the middle eye,
Its back to basics, in the classroom
We must not kill, we must not maim
try not to bear another’s shame.
To leave our young a heritage, that money cannot buy.

Copyright ©Roan Sept.2009