The Softest of Roses
There is something different,
in the way these eyes glow to the sky.
Almost as if, there is something more
than just a reflection,
hidden there.
It perplexes me.
Now I've seen those that See before,
But this is not the same.
Those eyes have seen darkness, they have seen death.
But these,
These are birds, free birds,
Soaring towards the sun,
Dipping their wings into the clouds,
just to get a taste of the sky.
And the shadows are in awe,
Of this flickering presence of safety and warmth,
afraid to hold it close.
In fear they may be burned.
How? How can this be?
How is it that the light is found not far from me?
And why did it choose to settle here?
In the barren ground,
on the barren field.
To create a garden of warmth and beauty,
where the softest of roses on green vines grow,
These eyes hold all of this and more.
A world for the both of us to explore.
We've had our days in the dark, my friend,
But it seems the sun has risen again.