Blind

wilted flowers

Adorned in the jewels

of another man’s life,

there stirs within

the hymn to strife.

*

Its hollow notes relieve

dead eyes from sight,

the requirements of love

that abandon stars to night.

*

Fools on stringless harps,

the orchestra of songless space

produce the music, not of spheres,

but of notes that stones replace.

*

As one dares eyes not to see

a feeding trough of dead flowers,

here the blindness is complete,

trading one’s life for another’s power.

Photo: www.srpsj.wordpress.com

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