White Eyes

Time stops as the moon strikes midnight

heralding notes forged from musical mice.

The Lost wander wondering if their second sight has guided right.

Blank, the lake reflecting with shimmers of the night’s chimes

sending shivers down a million fear locked spines:

caught in the trap of night, dark enveloping twisting sheets of nothing

wrapped in fog though alleyways down and across their minds.

bars on one side but they never need to leave

find in the blindness something akin to reprieve,

the selection of redemption though justice eyes are tied tight

and her twisted son striking painted blind, so:

through a splash in reality water drips down to be

caught in lashes tied tight with daylight,

unable to perceive the world around it in need;

taking steps to nowhere never able to leave.

They take up mantles of crusaders lost in dank caves,

and as the fog hits ocean rolling back from the beach

carries with it the hopes and dreams of children who see:

 a world they are left to inherit if any of them can bear it

we’ll have a new generation of lost wanderers with white eyes.