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.