Through a Glass Eye

Shattering the perfect illusion
of opaque glass
With one live eye,
Mellowed by fires of the past
The one eyed tramp
Wanders about the derelict mansions
Of a clown,
Not able to walk on stilts
To reach through the mask of a clown
that he was.

As he tumbles
The dice of many faces turn
Seeing sides of a clown
That he would not have seen
Within his castle walls.

In a mirror – behind a clock –
on a mantlepiece
Are images of a clown
In a reflection of memories.
Through the eye of the clock
That tells the colour of his time
He sees that if he lost sight
Of his perception
He would soon lose himself
To illusion.

© Christopher English