The Designers Eye
The Designer’s Eye
I look up to the blue expanses,
Needing to see just a trace of my designer,
Just an eyelash, or the tiniest of a skin flake.
Maybe just the descent of a strange leaf,
So that, inside my insecure soul,
There is some tincture of truth,
I can hold on to;
Just a nanosecond of illuminating light,
Of something beyond nature and,
Its troubling temper tantrums.
I know there is an invisible curtain before us.
I can feel the staring eyes of the dead.
They sit in the Big Theater,
Watching the Big Play unfold endlessly,
And I am on the stage of time,
Still reciting the soliloquies of fear.
But over there,
Lurking behind the bannisters,
Look!
I see the Beast.
He has shot Lincoln.
Now the designer has shown me his eye.
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