Crystal windows rest,
Glistening at the faintest of lights
Its ivory body filled with luster and glints of awe
Pure, neither tainted nor cracked.
Iris is at an ocher hue with umber undertones,
A mandala etched by nature on polished stone
Centering a void that engulfs
All that gaze upon the ascetic purity it holds

"Its fairness is a lie," cried the Right eye.

Ruby stone fractured,
Crumbling at the gentlest blow of wind
Its crimson dyed sheen is broken beyond repair
Bloodshot, both pained and aggrieved.
Iris is jet as the night that is starless,
Singularity of corruption and indignation made stone
At one with the entropy
Emanating from its core, its truth breaking away

"Says you who bathes in rusted scarlet!" shouts the Left.

But both window to the patriotic soul fail to see
That their visions made one is what's needed
In steering society towards a panoramic view of tomorrow.

My wrist hurts.  

I feel like there’s poison in it.
Like I need to bleed it out.  
But I don’t want my insides to show.  
I don’t want to be exposed to these strangers.

They won’t appreciate the depth of my wound.  They will only see the blood,  
They wont study the biology, the beauty, the physics.
They wont know me like I do.  Me and my alien blood.  
Foreign  body,
foreign spirit.  They wont hear it.
they can’t hear me crying out,
shouting,
screaming, “free me!
Perceive me! Hold me!”  
I just choke down a sob and die.  Too slowly.  
Promises undelivered.  
Restless ideals.
Restless desires.

Where there is nothing, I can see fire and warmth.
Where there is nothing, I can see peace and relief.
Where there is nothing, I can see fairness and equality.
Where there is nothing, I can see growth and Enlightenment.

But because where there is me, I can only see nothing… only nothing, anywhere else, will there ever be.