Oh eye, of a day gone by in ease
How I used to radiate light, now you are a messenger of gray.
You have a face of winter winds.
You never stay too long in the lighted center.
Don't you remember the dreams we've had?
In the world beyond the dust?
No, light does not come often from the lawful self, but is rather from knowledge or wisdom met with a hundred mercies.
My spirit is too diverse in colors to be seen as one light.
My creation does not lie in the fixation of a white or golden light, rather its creativity is seen in how I design.
My beauty is more than a point, it is as a flower held in front of a point.  Only by its being there does the point recognize the flower's value.
How I wish to be blessed with the point that my flower can hold it.
Hardly a petal is accepted, what an aged face I've become.
My own inner spirit must combine with my body to make beauty, which then must pass through my own acceptance - how hard it is.
Something's always afoul.
I should give up and say there's no such thing as beauty in an eye.
I am to be the saddest face if I behold your seas of bliss repeatedly.
A true smile comes from the Earth beneath me.
With enough shaking, it turns my heart to joy.
But it doesn't show on my skin.
There is no beauty in men.