What sad weary eyes we have
that see, in all the world,
such poverty and pointless pain.
Would not the sunlight bathe upon it
if we simply look again?
For the eye of the beholder
may choose the depth of tint
we see, through a rose coloured lens.
A hint of fanciful forms,
as they filter the rays they sense.
From beneath the haze
of the shimmering sun,
lies beauty, long forgot.
Or is it simply a mirage,
cavorting through rays far too hot?
Skies of deep azure
with clouds of cumulous mass
drifting lazily on the breeze.
Picturesque landscapes of floral palette,
until winters frosty frieze.
Glorious forests of glazed art,
twinkling icicles, like baubles
on the trees of December.
Wondrous days of innocence pure;
of younger days remembered.
Beasts wandering wild and free
in bountiful wooded wonderlands
of willow, beach and pine.
Snowflakes join to form a blanket
of majestic patterns, sublime.
Meandering melt-water streams
flowing, afresh with new life;
untainted and abundant.
A world reborn of marvelous magic,
colours and scents, resplendent.

To look upon a world in pain
and see beneath the silken shrouds
to the beauty lying below.
The scent of love, life and passion
is there for all to bestow.
We need to look from behind
eyes that want to see
the life that we need restored,
as a composer, creating the music of life,
is prepared to re-write the score.

Written by Darren Scanlon, 15th November 2014.
Revised 27th July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

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