For the Afflicted, Vision Turns to Stone
For the afflicted, vision turns to stone
Or else corrupted into simple wings
Floats and quarters from the rotten bone.
The doubled hand is sick with many rings
To paint the pain in clearly, as the rim
Of black beneath the eye denotes disease
More brightly than the sparkling, telling eye.
Who turns to look at him
Must find the glitter lost among the pleas
For death against a wall. He, beauty's spy,
Embracing enemy as only friend
Receives the answer in his broken back;
The fairy tale for him has often end-
His train is looping down another track.
But still in windows where he sees himself
He totters on to meet the eidolon.
His positive becomes accusative
To mock the panting elf
Within. Without a cry he sees the one
He loves refuse to welcome or forgive
His ugliness.
The gay withdrawal supplies
Him little habits; gives the odd desire
For fruits out of season and the pink cries
Of frozen birds sprayed out and held by wire
To his regard. The wet streets welcome him.
Dawn draws the blind down on his eerie home,
And at his door decays the slandered wreath.
Alas! his world grows dim
With festivals at which he must become
The midnight pumpkin by his daily death.
Structure
31 lines · 4 stanzas