Tired Eyes
See these tired eyes
A poor mask for what lies inside
Or, perhaps, a window to my mind
See these eyes searching, searching to find
A palace, a sanctuary, a place to unwind
A bodhi tree to sit behind
With a lover, a pen, a bottle of wine
And an empty book to write lines
These eyes of mine, they are kind
They are tired, they are open, they are wise
But until I meet you, my love, they are blind.
Copyright © Toby James | Year Posted 2015
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