I find little difficulty in fixing my eyes on metaphorical suns when a soft tune drives my gaze Unaccompanied, however, this ideal is broken with results of pain and blindness A strike of actuality A tear in the fabric of what ought to be Reality weighs heavily on those who pay the right (wrong?) kind of attention Not every waking moment need be evaluated lest it become mutated memory A view does eventually return A view with the scattered remnants of that metaphorical light Tainted by, perhaps? A reminder of? Floating positivity, avoiding center sight The good vibration that is burned into the senses to remind oneself to blink quickly or lose daylight to a blissful sea of darkness