Inner Blindness

My minds eye sits at the back of a darkened cave.
Cramp quarters and blackness hold both prison and palaver,
whispering nonessential nothings with pure intent.
To a dull and echoing drip drip drip of unknown liquid
that gleams and glistens with the brilliance
of blinded stone.


The lost lights flickered low in the arid evening.
Acidic scents of overly perfumed bosoms held bare in judgment.
Who is this moon that reveals my imperfections?
Who am I to question the wisdom of the wise men?
Flickering down to a candles breath the dim world blurs.
As we are all but in a cave wishing shadows on the wall.