Freak

Look upon my knot of face
mangled by fate's grip,
an umbilical noose
to mash my humanity into
some fascinating lump.

I am a ploughed field at sunfall,
carved like a stricken tree
to gaze with my good eye
at the coarse bewilderment
of beautiful nature.

I am alone, freak,
they name me.

Oh that my brain were as wrecked,
to twist my thoughts
as though through bent glass;
yet these are as transparent
as yellow star-rays

that shine upon the frightened eyes of the sheep
and the cruel eyes of those who beat the farm into order.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.