With Softer Eyes

With Softer Eyes

Is it the journey I fear or what awaits;
the leaving I fear or what I must leave behind?
Is it the changes to come or fear of nothing changing at all?
Am I praying for peace, or just hoping the war will stop?

These fears rest heavy like a stone, not far
away from my beating heart. The echo,
a cadence that guides my walk.
Tears yearn to join the pond before me. I let them
while I questioned my purpose here.
What did I think I would achieve in this place,
staring at trees, emptying my eyes of fear,
when what I feared is waiting back at home?

I relaxed my eyes, let things blur a bit,
and that is when I saw with softer eyes
the green of the boughs, the wounds of the pine.
Battle scarred and crying sap, the roots
into the water tapped. Its branches held
a wealth of life, its roots forever anchored tight.
The green stretched upward to the sky
shielding the earth from the burning light. 

And I was awed at this new sight, my eyes cleansed from fear. 
I walked with courage up the path, looking back once more,
and there I saw the stone I lugged beside my heart,
lying there beneath the pine.  A sheltered place to sit
for someone just like me, now that I have gone.

You see, I have heard the echo sound, and once it was
a fearful sound, but now it calls me home again,
to challenges not so severe as lightning striking pine.
But still, if I intend to thrive, I must not fail
to nourish my roots once in a while.  And I’ll weep
sometimes, just like the old and fruitful pine.  I’ll stretch
my arms lik branches ‘til they shield my children and other’s still. 
And when some lonely soul comes near, I’ll not hide
from my deepest fears.  I’ll lay them bare beside the stone.

It could be the one you’re sitting on.















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With Softer Eyes


Is it the journey I fear
or what awaits; the leaving I fear
or what I must leave behind?
Is it the changes to come
or fear of nothing changing at all?
Am I praying for peace,
or just hoping the war will stop?

These fears rest heavy like a stone, not far
away from my beating heart. The echo,
a cadence that guides my walk.
Tears from my eyes yearn to join
the pond before me, so I let them
while I questioned my purpose here.
What did I think I would achieve,
coming here, to stare at trees,
to empty my eyes of fear,
when what I feared the most
was waiting at the end of my path?

Tired, I relaxed my eyes, let things blur a bit,
and that is when I saw with softer eyes
the green of the boughs, the wounds of the pine.
Battle scarred and crying sap, the roots
into the water tapped. Its branches held
a wealth of life, its roots forever
anchored tight. The green stretched upward
to the sky and shielded the earth
from the burning light. And I was awed
at this new sight, my eyes, now cleansed from fear.

I walked with courage up the path, looking back
once more, and there I saw the stone I carried
beside my heart, lying there beneath the tree,
a place to sit for someone like me. But I have heard
that echo sound, and once it was a fearful sound,
but now it calls me home again, to challenges no so severe
as lightning through the pine.

But if I am to make it through, I must be sure
to nourish roots, to be unafraid to weep sometimes, just like the old
and fruitful pine.  I must stretch out my branches ‘til
they shield my children and other’s still.  And when some
lonely one comes near, I’ll not hide from my deepest fears,
I’ll lay them bare beside the stone.

It could be the one you’re sitting on.