His eyes are full <br />of wandering demons. <br />His lips are poisonous snakes. <br />His hair is red, although <br />it once was brown. <br /> <br /> <br />His life consists of the <br />slow, constant dimming <br />of the heart, and the <br />relentless loss of play. <br /> <br /> <br />More angry than hungry, <br />he is gnawing on a plastic fork. <br />The voices inside him <br />begin to chatter once again. <br /> <br /> <br />'I hope you find what you <br />are searching for, ' is all they <br />ever say. He shivers with disgust. <br /> <br /> <br />He remembers what his grandmother <br />told him as a child: 'That which we <br />love, we can never see.' <br /> <br /> <br />He gazes at the sky <br />towards a mysterious world <br />invisible to human eyes. <br /> <br /> <br />He gets up <br />from his chair, and walks <br />towards the strange and unseen world. <br />The voices fall silent.<br /><br />David Kowalczyk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poem-for-a-truculent-optometrist/
