There is something in that eye
That dominating focal vent,
That focal point that shackled gaze
It's leaking ducts lament.
There's something in that poets eye
Or rather something out,
There is something out about that eye
Just the smallest blink of doubt.
High above the Atoll
Conspicuous lashes flowed,
A demonstrative display
Sentiment suspect borrowed.
Lashes of liquid Larimar
And Sapphire subterfuge,
Royal Aqua fountains weeping
Mournful magnitude.
Afloat upon the scape of sea
And sky it pierces through,
A glassy fluid light against
Much darker grey and blue.
The water thick and dark and dense
Soupy and opaque,
Shrouded cloudy sky of greys
Stands vigilant wake.
The cry it is an azure ruse
a desperate one at that,
Selected by the poet
To achieve glossing over matt.
Trickery of smoke and mirrors
Sold as dreams and cries,
Slight of hand in almond shape
Juxtaposed across the skies.
There is something in that eye
Such construct's no mistake,
Drink it up sup on those tears
Do not forget it's fake.
Of the Bard it must be said
they bear no ill intent,
Long ago when dreams did flow
They had no need to circumvent.
Opalescent emotions
The atoll shimmers bright,
Lit by ocular illusions
Seeping rays of light.
Thirstily the atoll sups
Laps up every tear,
Beneath it's viscous surface
Hastily they disappear.
The colours formed a peacock blue
A performance piece to play,
As the ripples settle
So too does light on splay.
Upon creation of the scene
The poet now must act,
Holding up the shiny orb
For the moment of impact.
She holds the masterpiece up high
It weeps with pain soaked through,
The eye a mirror all you feel
A reflected piece of you.
Perhaps between the lines
You may observe a voice so small,
A whispered cry an echoed dream
From deep beneath it all.
There's something in that eye it's true
Twas placed there by she poet,
Projections of affect long lost
'pon ocean floor she stow it.
Atoll's are born of eruption
They're built upon such strife,
Upon the poets dreams and tears
The atoll came to life.
The poets screams a muffled cry
It never finds the eye,
She still remains below at the source
Her dreams stoke the molten fire.