Through His Glasses

My sight, my perception, my opinion, my awareness All dependent on this wire apparatus And these thin panes of smudged glass Held together by hope and fortitude--twisted metal A tincture for my failing sight The dirt and spit that cured my blindness Unflappable metal arms clasp my face Emotionless and cold under their burden Unwavering in their relentless support Stolidly enduring against the hazards assailing them Translucent fingerprints obscure my sight Hazy colors drift across my vision Fractured light pauses before an invisible barrier Elusive dust motes, swollen by my borrowed gaze Abused and neglected, yet still they withstand Ceaselessly weathering my pointless attacks Surviving fall and twists, drops and kicks Snapped and squashed and hastily mended Exacting a debt but never expecting payment They are the box I think outside of, the framing of my world