In my blue eye,
The look of the sun wavers like the look of the ocean surface.
The so called scorching glare of the sun chills me,
Making me feel as if I've been trapped in an ice cube,
Deep in my memory is trapped,
A somber and enigmatic parable ever told.
In the depth of my memory is confidence under construction.
The confidence that my anxiety will bring underdestruction,
That also which my mouth will deliver under distortion,
Thus, I fail to verify the authenticity of what I think versus what I see.
The oasis...