I
the lens of a mans eye grows opaque
within the circling of its years
the eyes of God are manufactured by a better oculist
and see through his deeds
with a prescient clarity
II
that man who knows the pitch of the human heart
is no man at jeopardy
of losing his soul to some evil siren
III
that which is tangible
in the realm of the senses
knows no inner reality
save that which God has placed there
for his own just purposes
IV
the perfume of a womans breath
is like a plume frozen
in the crisp air of a duel at dawn
a man who fights for her with steel
at such a time and such a place
as is appointed by his rival
cannot tell if he is to die at that mans hand
or that man at his
V
she cannot draw ballots and must avert her eyes
and cast out her oracle as a traitor to her ears
she has no taste for war brewing within
for she is large with a child
who may never know his father
nor even touch his hair
just a rifle shot echo of the past
and the acrid scent of death
rising
Flynnpoetry 