Oh you dark spot
That clouds my vision
A demon of sight
The warden of my gray prison
Floating endlessly
before my gaze
an evil specter of future days
I curse thee!
I call thee out!
The road less traveled?
Is that what its about?

“To see or not to see”
echoes of the modern early at its rise
an age old curse
a companion to despise
to wrangle
to fight
to struggle
to lose one’s sight
Out, damn spot! Out!

These eyes so bright
Too young for such a malady
Colors burst
Shapes collide
Silhouettes are strong
No weakness there to hide
Glare
Reflection
Shades of brown
Weakness
Focus
Baskerville’s hound?

Dog days of summer gone
The hours rushing past
Winter’s twilight seems so long
Deep shadows they do cast
Gray tones
Sad tunes
Hip-hop, jazz or taps
The band will play
My eyes will fail
Will all be lost…
as death’s dark spot prevails?

© 2005 by Scot Lahaie

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