(no subject)
For so long windows held my sight,
Just staring out at busy worlds
That I had no relation to, at
Starry nights darkened by clouds
And dimmed from fog and city lights,
Through panes of glass and reflections
Of a boy who knew more of himself
Than radiant sights that passed him by.
It all ended so stupidly,
In children's notes, innocent words
And impressions of naive dreams
Lying in palm and finger creases.
I'd only thought of beauty's ways,
Of where it began and entwined
With graceful hands and shining eyes,
With ordinary people's lives.
And then I found its origin:
Without my eyes or words or dreams,
Within my untouched skin.
Just staring out at busy worlds
That I had no relation to, at
Starry nights darkened by clouds
And dimmed from fog and city lights,
Through panes of glass and reflections
Of a boy who knew more of himself
Than radiant sights that passed him by.
It all ended so stupidly,
In children's notes, innocent words
And impressions of naive dreams
Lying in palm and finger creases.
I'd only thought of beauty's ways,
Of where it began and entwined
With graceful hands and shining eyes,
With ordinary people's lives.
And then I found its origin:
Without my eyes or words or dreams,
Within my untouched skin.