The Second Time Around

A poem about eyes and words.

First thing in the morning
I get up or rather, stumble
Until all of the images clear

There was a time before
When things would not, could not
Separate themselves for me

I thought I was advanced at first
Until I realized that
I could not see from the rear

But simply relishing and marveling
That instead of their cunning tricks
My eyes would be made to see

I could finally see nature as it was meant to be
Those tall trees, so menacing, and yet, so friendly
The leafy green, with sappy sheen, I discovered happily

I could choose to see hues of the deepest blues
Before the shore saw the sea soar with only clues
My sight renewed to view the virtues of all views

Twisted tongue twixt amounts of teeth
Due to death you did dominate my deep
Subtle separation sipping silently in my sleep

So you see, as do I
The good gooders and the bad ones too
Balance themselves on a very thin line

But seeing the things you see
And imagining the ones you don't
Some would much rather be blind