The Eyeless Man

A long handwritten poem about the eyeless men, with red flames and a scythe.
The story of the eyeless man is one of grace and woe. His name was white, and white was he Not so long ago. He saw the world - the Eyeless man - As any other would Except his days were ever-bathed In blackness where he stood. The eyeless man grew tall and tall from eating all the light He shone a bright and golden sheen by day, and on some moonlit nights His sheen from gold Turned pale and bold - A snowy ashen white. And as he grew to reach us As he strove so fierce and well we in turn devoured him And saved him from his hell. And then beneath his broken home The earth was never turned. The eyeless men have purpose But no purpose that they earn. And then one morning in that place A sickness spread with sullen grace And fell upon the fields. And the eyeless men were burned. The eyeless men had purpose But the earth was never turned. They fell to blight Were set alight And were thusly burned.