Daffodils for Blood

My cunning Blade slits it open for me,
My Vision that ivored poorly— I am the one who sees.

I who sought sight once, see sights of sullen saddlebacks saddle back their somber kind under the shattered steel of a blue sky that shined once upon a time.

And I look at myself as the gleaming moon,
And beneath me are the visually impaired
That wander mindlessly in irony to only find moon's visage which once done-favor blinding sunrays.

I reckon a flock of sheep and a hummingbird have no different affairs.

This bleat-cawking crass,
crave hikes for cold command junks the land with sneers that once smiled,
is a sickness that culls the humblest man into a homme of hauteur.

You see...

Now,
I am become God.
Love me
But fear me
For what I am you cannot be.