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