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glass eye


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Apart from an eye of glass

and a leg of wood the rest

of me was real.I could not

conceal the timber as I

slowly turned to pine and

I could not repeal my sins

to bribe the divine. I was

made into a coffin and buried

with my eye. I returned as a

ghost and rubbed the glass eye

and watched scenes from my life

flicker by. A ghost in life as

in death, more real in death

than in life.

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David W. Parsley

I especially like the first 12 lines. There is a sense of something happening here, something beneath the fantastic surface that implies something "more real." One comes away with the sense that he should already know what poet is talking about. I want to sleep on this one.

 

- Dave

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