The glasses are heavy
On the bridge of my nose,
Weighing down my face
With the gift of sight.

If I took them off, would
I stumble into something
I couldn’t get myself out of?
Would I become bruised,
Terribly unrecognizable
From myself?

The pressure of them
Reminds me of Jesus’
Sacrifice. He lets me see
Clearly—see the beauty
In the world that is only
Harsh, blurred colors.

But do I often cast them
Aside? Do I let them grow
Grubby, never putting in
The time to wipe them
Clean, and dwell on how
Truly grateful I am for

That level of grace?