It was my eye, which once was caged
and shreads of mirror suddenly enraged
that woke up the serpents of a stailed old pool,
and set them loose with fiery drool.
Hungry and vile, clotting my breath,
taking my arms into concrete gray death,
they made me shatter my cries for you,
until they faded, until I knew.
I knew that my eye was in it's own cage,
the mirror was shreaded in a feeble rage,
that old pool once was a careless spring,
now petrified with fear into wrinkled old thing.
Autor: Jelena Ristić
