True Eyes

It is a early in the morning,
an hour before dawn,
and you are awake,
imagining love in a key that seems your own,
full of the beauty no one seems to believe in,
except you.

A different music you hear.
not loud. Coloring everything
you live like a rose colored fog.
It could your own peculiar blindness,
but you prefer to believe
your eye is truer than the eyes
of people who have two.

About this poem

I am surrounded by people who do not see their own beauty. I am blind in one eye. From those things, this poem.

The picture is of my bedside table. I made the lampshade with help from Judy Sawyer Lake of Lake’s Lampshades in nearby Pawlet, VT.

Tom