A Poem, Onyx Eye Cracks

Onyx Eye Cracks
I.
The onyx glassy centre of an eye fixed on me,
Beautiful, everything and bringing the end and transition
of carefree, free and exchangeable feeling where
face, body and mind can be swapped and met with
A different interpretation of the same Romantic Opera.

II.
Now. Now. Now, oh Now.
Now things have changed.
Now the existential state I am in is compromised.
It is not full.
Broken phone conversations:
“Sorry. One more time? One more time? Sorry. I’m not hearing you.
I can’t hear you. Can’t hear you.”

III.
Here. Here I sit in a void.
Talk, say, speak, and I cannot hear.
Broken line. Broken line.
In the brokenness you sail through,
perhaps not full but imagined,
hoped and formed, imaginary, perfect and unreal
whispering patience though it may not be what i think I am waiting for:
patience.

Conversations with a memory of onyx breaking beneath the all too heavy weight of insecure, irrational and imaginary imagery of lost thoughts from you for me who you have exchanged for a new interpretation of the same Tragic Opera.

IV.
Thoughts based on bubbling tar.
Thoughts, which serve to choke and dirty the true self-image,
which, though marred and soiled with ACTS of life’s lust and pride,
is valid and valuable and vital to some-someone.

One. Onyx eyed one.
All thoughts building upon themselves all made to torture.
Was then or now real?
Then. Then. Then the onyx eye smiled on me.
Now, it scares me.
The memory scares me.

Then, scares me-

-Now and then the same.
Merged in insecurity of hope.
Cracked fist of iron and wax pounding the true onyx eye,
which was real before memory, time and insecurity
formed an inverted trinity bent on hurt.
Only the real can purge.