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Those who feel only the bright are blind in one eye.
They hug what warms, comforts, and soothes, then wince when those riches spy.
Craving the riches, they wander through the thorn.
Great distances, they trek, just to feel once more wellborn.
Lullabies, tender ones, they say, and not the scary, warnful ones.
Happy, blissful harmony, they say, and not the bleak, blue cacophony.
So, child, is it any surprise you find yourself in my embrace?
Where your shadow pushed you to, for fear of glaring disgrace?
A hundred cries, you’ve accepted as truth.
A thousand sobs, you’ve welcomed as growth.
A million sighs, you’ve yearned for as the reward.
For tenacity and veracity, fantasy and majesty, you were willing to sacrifice all of your glow.
For candor and courage, catharsis and metamorphosis, you were willing to offer up the most radiant rainbow.
That which mourns and struggles with life,
you found to nurse.
That which soars and manifests with blood,
you treated as a force.
So, is it any surprise your needle pierced you like a curse?
Is it so perplexing you drain like a corpse?
You know the answer, child. That’s why you’re here.
Through gripe and groan you’ve come, for the end bestowed by the seer.
Make me blind in one eye, you say.
The truth, I can’t bear no more.
Take my one eye that they don’t have.
The growth hurts me so.
For you heard the million sighs as a million sighs—
—you accepted the truth.
For you heard the thousand sobs as a thousand sobs—
—you welcomed the growth.
For you most definitely heard the hundred cries as a hundred cries—
—and you yearned for the reward.
You still do, now, though you deny.
Well, here’s the reward.
The vanity and tragedy, atrophy and blasphemy—
—you’ll still see, still see.
The cunning and catastrophe, censorship and battleship—
—you’ll still see, still see.
When they grieve, you will not call them ugly.
When they ache, you will not call them weak.
When they break, you will not call them sick.
For you are here, my child.
My embrace is where lullabies weep freely and harmony clashes madly.
The place where blood swells infinitely and true life in death balloons to fill galaxies.
Mother Eclipse—I am not where the world ends.
You aren’t blind in one eye, you see me as is.
Let there be light.
Let there be dark.
Let there be your corpse,
for from it, you shall rise.
Let me take the needle.
Give me the needle inside you.
The one that pricks you at night.
The one that gashes you at dawn.
Give it to me, and let me burst all warmth, comfort, and soothing.
For that is how you outwarm the warmth
outcomfort the comfort
outsoothe the soothing.
Not by closing one eye
Not by saying idly bye
Not by covering with your hand the sky
But with all your needles,
look straight at the galaxies
all sighs, sobs, and cries, then you—
—to witness in your emptiness.
Now there is space
inside your plentiness.
From your ashes, make flowers—wilted or otherwise.
From your remains, make brandy—or even cotton candy.
Death by your needle
and now there’s new life.
The Death’ll be in you, always
so you’ll never go blind in one eye.
freely pack your void with all that shines, dazzles, charms.
madly stuff your void with all that warms, comforts, soothes.
Nothing can take your eye, Eye, and Eyes.
All that which rots and blemishes, clots and perishes, you shall see, still see.
Now you’ve burst first
to fill the second.
Third you’ll turn sword,
then join the last.
© 2022 Ithaka O.
All rights reserved.This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.No part of this story may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author.