Once more through the mill

by John Smallshaw
(London, England)

The marbles in my eyes
Coloured glass that I despise.
Yet, from these I look out to this world
The marbles in my eyes unfurled.

Blue they had to be
Blue is what I see
No reds
No greens
No country scenes
No flower beds
Blue and heads I lose.

I didn't choose this
want to lose this
But I can't refuse the look that's looking back
In the mirror all is black
And I fear.

The reflection ever near
The gaze that's here and now
But anyhow or way I look
The hook that catches
Snatches me and holds me tight
Is the colour of the sky but not at night
It's blue.

And true to form
The storm inside
Wants to pluck out both my eyes.
I resist
Insist upon a trial
Dial a friend
Will this nightmare ever end?
It never will
This is the bill of lading
The wading through the swamp
A romping in the mud
Nothing good will come
Except the blue and that's no fun.

The alleyway will stay
Will remain to mark each passing
And every day
It will be blue
It seems there's nothing I can do
But die or dye
Another colour in the sky
It will be blue don't ask me why
I do not know.

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