Into The White Eye

Into the white eye
of morning the evening's
pleasures pale.
This is the end of the beginning.
She sees in the mirror
someone unassured, lost
with no sign of intention.

And then the ghost disperses
with the child's cry
that echoes gaunt
from the other room
filling her with terror.
This is another Eden,
one place God did not enter

bringing pleasures
or ecstasies
to those without holy minds.
She reaches from nothingness
to begin the day,
her soul emptied,
dragged into the night's stars

that carry no weight
or forgiveness
but remind
each morning
of the bustle of life
that brings her back
to consciousness,

the child wanting,
her own mind lost in history
somewhere far away
that nestles in its own
rich and beautiful
as love.

John Cornwall

If you've any comments on his poems, John Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.