Lids yawn to consciousness and
Awaken, blind to the
Mysteries of 6 am and the
Shapes and colors dance like the
Creatures of last night’s dreams until
Lazy lenses work toward order,
Tirelessly fighting to mold this view
Into one not quite so nonsensical,
Yet just as limitless.
The eyes are both
Windows and mirrors;
The hazel, chocolate, emerald universe is a film,
By which the mind may view the world around it,
Making judgements and choices and regrets and discoveries and
Uncovering the nature of the
Soul and its virtues.
With your vision you may wander the depths of others and
Watch as the world itself unfolds into
Beauty and destruction,
A world which only you may view and assess
In the way which only you will.
The eyes, however, are only predecessors
To the journey by which you exist
In this unforgiving and ever-evolving presence of a lifetime.
To truly hang in the gallery of time as
One who’s made her place,
Those windows which absorbed the light of the
Knowledge and beauty and destruction around
Must now reflect back.
These eyes, as always, are no ordinary mirrors,
For they distort the image in ways no one else will ever know,
Ways that only may be described through
Acts of the tongue, hand, or foot,
In response to the eyes,
And the mind,
And the heart.
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