Unnerved

The voice within the eye is haunting me,
A vision heaving from a fractured mind,
The voice can’t speak, the wooden eye can’t see,
And yet I hear and feel both naughts in kind,
Who is he that claims he’s from the sky,
Who bears the mark of gods who did betray,
Too close to clouds, who never once did fly,
Who sees but half, has twice as much to say?
He bears the voice, the eye, the absence of,
In chains, unbound, imprisoned, but content,
As though the sky below, the earth above,
And all like all falls up in its descent,
As from a hunter’s bow, an arrow cast,
Which ‘posing state awaits me at the last?