My Eyes

I will paint your eyes, but you will wish I hadn’t

With knowledge will come desperation, 

A puncture, forming in your sacred blind,

you will regret that request and carve out your eyes

Searching for your sacred sight 

it was nothing lest lies, 

but you can't resurrect a soul in coal

Listen to me when I cry—“the poet never sleeps, and the painter always screams—

Depth! take this truth of lore from me.”