Criss Cross

[finncullen]

They've knocked another window in the wall
high up, well made, and neat and square,
An opening for light, and air, so small
It shouldn't bother me that it is there.
But there it is.  And others.  And yet more
and daily more that pierce the wall anew,
And light criss crosses harsh upon the floor,
the pleasant peaceful darkness pierced through.
It's hard to move now for i seem to know
That if I tread within those shafts of light
I will be burned to ash and cinder's glow,
Destroyed at once by Phoebus' searing spite
And so upon my bed I sit dismayed
And fear no more the thought of moment's pain
It is, trust me on this, a surgeon's blade
I'll carve myself a smiling face again.