Of the Unseeing Eyes

Of the Unseeing Eyes By Ferry Lyra B. Fronda

I’m sick of the irony— yet everyone sees my burning in pitch black of glitter and oil that drips from what has scathed me.

Whereas…

When mind denies reality of boundaries, fantasy stashes the brutish and the hideous. My desire surges as the figment breeds within, unconquered by an uttered verse—numbed of meaning. I muse these thoughts as I create my own prose: a vision.

My one dream…

This body of mine in feeble black and basic white flee from the glorious threat of fleeting time. I shall harness the force of the Arcadian night to seize the fugitive colors and sunlight. I ache for the play of prodded verbs: a redemption.

Turn to the trail of certainty…

For there exists no beauty unblemished. Life is a balance unlearned yet well-meant. A deep-seated ego contrived me to forge everything twice tall, and I toil for the price. A string of rhyme woven in deception: an illusion.

And be haunted by what might have been…

Hushed inside, but the truth still seeps in this disconcerting tenderness of existence and of extremes. I chase a life apart from my own in a drunken stupor. A dream left to starve and explode in the abyss— but even fragments have their own alternate world: a salvation. In this world where light cannot pervade…

The darkness shall soon engulf a life coveted but not possessed. I will burn anyway; and there will be no rest in the igniting fire.

This is my tale—my show: a prophetic pretense cloaked in disguise before my eyes.

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Art by Mikey Vincent T. Vicente

Photo by Ma. Micah Dearielle V. Trajera