Moon at Half Past Noon

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Through Fractured Prisms

She staggers in, the cane’s a drum,
A thousand beats in echoes hum.
The room dissolves, a melting tide,
Walls bleed colors, wild and wide.
An old woman, bent, her eyes aflame,
The world’s a blur, a screaming game.

The specialist looms, a shadow king,
His voice a bell that splits and rings.
“Follow the light!”—it burns, it spears,
A comet trail of molten tears.
Her pupils bloom, black holes unwind,
Swallowing sight, unraveling mind.
Once she tracked the stars’ mad dance,
Now they spiral, a cosmic trance—
Kaleidoscope cracks, the edges fray,
A dripping lens of yesterday.

“Read the chart!”—a voice like glass,
Letters twist, they writhe, they mass,
Everything explodes, bends and screams,
Words turn worms in fever dreams.
She claws the air, the blur’s a beast,
A roaring fog, a visual feast—
Senses she gorged, now shred apart,
A pulsing wound, a throbbing heart.

Machines growl low, their gears ignite,
Lenses spin in fractured light.
Cold steel bites her trembling face,
A crown of thorns in time’s embrace.
“Better? Worse?”—the words collide,
A chorus chants where thoughts subside.
Sight’s a traitor, first to bolt,
A lightning flash, a jagged jolt—
Years of strain, of squint, of stare,
Now a storm of neon glare.

The room tilts sharp, a liquid floor,
Voices drip through every pore.
Her ears might clog, her tongue might rot,
Touch might fade, but sight’s the knot—
Unraveled now in vivid streaks,
A canvas torn by acid’s shrieks.
Age, a jester, laughs and spins,
Peels her senses, sheds her skins.

She lurches up, the blur’s a flood,
A sea of light, of ink, of blood.
Glasses promised, distant lore,
A lifeline lost on shifting shore.
The air hums thick, her veins ignite,
A symphony of fading sight—
Each sense a ghost, a fleeing spark,
Dissolving slow in endless dark.

Yet in the chaos, visions bloom,
A fractured past lights up the gloom.
Her youth flares bright, a molten thread,
Through swirling haze of blue and red.
The eyes may burst, the mind may bend,
But memory fights until the end—
A wild, warped hymn, a final rush,
Till all turns ash, till all turns dust.