The Good Old Days - Journal

EYES - The round-of-life scene, Hope of hereafter, An aspect between Movement hinders sight and more A sandy beach Spread at the shore Glaze crust an itchy lid Harsh chemicals A thousand things hid But now I lay me down, Bright years in favor, Beloved benevolent of the town Lids drop comfortably, A flesh-fast wall See this dusty saffron galaxy - All speculation, mind, Based on ancient sacred text, On human eyes, script of the time – This mellow – now beige – array Of swirling, tiny specks sifted, Some far brightness on display Beyond could be angels awing So white, inner eye barely detects But soul might hear them sing More glorious than Cologne, Alpine, or billowing clouds, Their sweet voices whisper, moan Forgot the body prime - That ultimately false prison - In this thoughtless region sublime Dave Austin