Eyeward

Perhaps if the world were blind, or could only see, the way we would a sunset; a stenciled life, in a golden haze, we wouldn't think to question our days. For those eyes there is the sky, the life of sea and blossom; the colors we see when the sun is high, and we're left to admire the day. But colors get washed away like the exit to the world when it rains. There you are, safely out of reach and forever above, and all we can do is imagine your efforts to prove that you're more than a dream. Here, in this broad spectrum of color and light, where against, you should tower but only become a gleam. I bet you too, bulb and bloom, along endless fields, forever seen but unseen.