Blinded Eye

Turn another blinded eye, oblivious
To cattail meadows strewn sea-to-sea -
Each stalk, brazed by arctic incursions
And baked by the sun in May.
Turn it over, the fortune card, reveal
What God has granted tomorrow -
A twilight storm or rolling foment -
Behind each prize-door,
Incontrovertible evidence
For your prosecution.

Turn another blinded eye, oblivious
To withered lake-front phantoms
Haunting shoreline stores - every
Ghostly voice of panic, unanswered on the
Glassy channels, just meters beyond
The undertow signs.
What is it that serves as your marker?
Your mentor? Your master? Your Maker?
Make your prize-door choices now -
One, two, three.

by Kelly Vinal

Comments (3)

I loved the passage: 'To withered lake-front phantoms Haunting shoreline stores - every Ghostly voice of panic, unanswered on the Glassy channels, just meters beyond The undertow signs.' What superb imagery! Overall, this poem speaks volumes to me. More than I can write here.
Thought-provoking.Simply superb.
excellent, thank you