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
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