windows
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look …
look close, my gaze
the shine of what endures …
can you not see the toil of my father -
the glint of my mother's care?
do the joys of childhood and the
ache of young loves, lost
not shimmer in those depths?
look, yet, my eyes
beyond the white and absinthe
plunge those oily, breathless blacks ...
a brand dances there, yet
flickering for the dreams not realized
the lone, weary heart unwanted
and the songs ...
unsung.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2024
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