Eye

Slowly there is an eye developing
Deep within
The rushing roar of hail.

There is a calyx and an eye
There is an ache and a halting breath
A rushing in.

There is a heavy sobbing
Haltingly rushing
Deep in the eye.

There is a man digging my grave
Telling me that this will not kill me
But take me deep under the mud.

Above the deep mud there is war
An endless conflict
Rushing and roaring.

There are no eyes there.

Only the spilled blood which fuels the war.
Only the closing of graves the wrong way
Only the mad tumult of futility.

Slowly there is a calm, still eye
Being begged to close
And return to the war.