On my bus there bloomed, before me, the front and back of life. Both beautiful and natural; the front was an extremely beautiful, young woman – wide awake and facing the day. She was texting people, playing with her phone, and listening to music. Yet, for long moments she would stare across the aisle at a sleeping old woman. The elder was equally beautiful in her nature if not quite as nubile as the youth. The elder, plastic rain-cap on her head, was sleeping in what must have been an uncomfortable position with her neck bent forward at a sharp angle. She was most likely out to go shopping, as she had a grocery bag, and was not trying to hurry any more than she was trying to be social. She didn’t feel the need to be impressive. She eventually woke up and let out a bronchial cough; for a moment both her and the youth were cognizant of each other’s existence. Past reckons future. Front meets back. I couldn’t help but wonder what went through their minds in that brief flash of humanity.
There she is,
behind my eyes,
Waiting for my lids to close
to dance when all the lights are off.
But, there she is,
and probably will stay,
sooner or later i’ll decide
it’s better that way.
her dress is as white as a winter skyline…
my hopes are as high as the top of the world,
her eyes are stealing my consciousness,
just like i had a feeling they would.
do we really see the world with our eyes?
and if it is true, how they fail us so.
can we truly comprehend the beauty behind a smile
or the love in a deep clear stare
only by seeing?
can eyes report back the love that is found
in the pressure of a kiss?
can vision detail the softness
of skin in a gentle embrace?
can they see the love there?
can eyes see without certain knowledge
of its presence, any love at all?
people gather from miles distance
to watch beautiful things die,
i’ll admit —
the hills do possess a certain elegance
as the leaves change
from their sunlight suffocation,
but they are so much more beautiful
when they are green and lush,
when they live and wave with youthful
spring, when they course and shade
and turn the raindrops away.