The Sentinel

Cyclopean Eyes

now I lay my head down to sleep

what remains after life ceases

I am lost in darkness: I can no longer fly. I am dead.

how I died. I was flying into the light and green was before me, I thought, but I was deceived. Man had tricked me. Once when young my mother had said: "beware my little one. Man has devised a substance that is luminous and creates the appearance of our trees, of sky and clouds of flowers and all nature, but it is deceitful; if you fly into it it will cripple or kill you. It is called glass, in English. Beware little one." The day life ended for me all was glorious and life was pleasure. And then it was no more. I felt great pain , dropped to earth and then the gods were merciful. I am no more but my being is now decomposing yet my self will fly still in a world like the one I left but better; it will be without man and deceit will not exist."

a rose: fading yet glorious

regenerative spheres and tears of sorrow

tying oneself up in knots or suicide

I do not understand why the reed turns upon itself and causes its own death. Is it a coping mechanism? The act appears to be so unnatural, more human then what we think a plant would do. Why? Or do I misunderstand what I observe. Folding its broad leaves, turning at right angles, cutting its leaves into strands that then wrap around the other parts, finally causing death.