They plummet, like a bird shot in flight
They fall, shattering soundlessly
Like a star, in the dead of night
Or a bloom nipped prematurely
Perhaps they simply drift away
Like cloud-ships above
The dreamer with a dream,
But no love
Look through your window
What do you see?
Is it a landscape gleaming
Or a day beautiful with promise
In spite of the weather?
Do you see hope on the horizon
Or an iron tether?
The eyes through which we behold the world
Shape the hour, then the day, then a life
It is attitude, not circumstance
That paints skies blue or gray, dark or light
Hope does not stream like the sun or rain
In portions from above
And every day is beautiful
When beheld with eyes of love
© Janet Martin
There are days when beauty falls, heavy and flat
because the eye simply sees through where the heart is at...