Where upon you see the mechanics of an Edwardian clock,
the rhythmic hands moving in accordance to the greying frock,
the pleasantries of obedience don’t run a mock,
and the gold band, for the soul, an eternal lock.
With blind eyes you see form but the atoms are lost.
You see a sky of lights not the oncoming frost.
You see nothing familiar, yet don’t know that you’re lost.
You’re unable even, to calculate the loss.
I’d ask that you trust in my words and see what I see,
but you can’t, you already believe you are free.
I’d ask that you look and see life’s melody,
but her music makes you want to up and flee.
I’ve asked that you try, you ask i leave you be.
I fear on my path you will not follow me,
for you are blind and I can see.
Karen Hayward ©2016