My Eye. o.--

My Eye... 

--.o

Its brown.. and round. Oh yay for me.
My sight its crowned, and i can see.
I can see 

I can even see my Eye...  

To be a tinge of brown and round for room
  Comforts best home, i might assume
If ever you knocked, and came right in
  You would find a particular arrangement under this souls skin 

A few green vines growing up and around the walls
In aspirational growth it both leaps and crawls
  A trail of incensed indian smoke lingering midway through the air.
Its movement slight in translucent prayer.
  A basin of water in the corner to condensate my latent emotion
Violent sea storms swept inside a still surfaced ocean
A candle for a certain sized flame, flickering life
  Splitting my darkness in two with illuminate knife
A clock who's gears constantly will process space and time
  hands that measure the continuum, and record its rhyme
Heavy curtains on windows for when I'm through with opinion's mark
   Just pull this sash here, and my soul gets dark.
A portrait of peace high up on the wall,
   Sometimes to high for me to reach at all
And finally a manual fan on a writing desk, where if i work up enough of my own wind...
I can write letters of life and love to you, like..

My dear,
    Steer clear of the muddy waters of life.

     Seek shelter that looks like shelter,

    And always walk to where your dreamy picture looks brightest.
                               P.S. I will do the same.

And maybe then i would find you in such a frame...
   Where the puzzle matches the pieces,
                             And the pieces make the portrait,
                                        ...of a soul who is himself, and is happy because of it.
And when we meet, however that may be..
Happiness in the shady confines of a dark-brown eye,
            is what you would see.

"My Eye" - A prose piece