Well, from the eye
I can see that I
Am still yet fully formed
Though adult in externality
Still a pupil to experiences
That have yet to unfold
Pupil, pupil, pupil, pupil
Which one to choose
The student or the eye
That which sees
Or that which can traverse the seas
But only under the tutelage
Of one who knows
One of the knowledge…
What the fuck is there in the eye
That it’s all that any pseudo-romantic
Can speak of
What’s there in the mind
Of a budding youngling
But that which will be molded
And tortured and mangled
And bemuddled?
I want to have one of those nights
One you see in a movie
A moment
Unbefuddled
One that all but fully encompasses
All that can be called art
But what is that?
The Notebook Blue 