Through My Eyes

My cringing eyes unfold,

Obscure and muddy images run through my bewildered head.

Break of day.

The sharp rays of the golden sun

Spitting through the window,

Hit my tender, morning eyes.

I get the strength to get out of my bed,

But when I arise, nothing is lucid to me.

I exist in a cloud,

Like a painting that has been smudged.

It’s challenging to decipher the minutia of objects.

But when I reach for my saviour,

Constructed of sculpted alloy,

It aggrandizes my views and opinions.

Without it I would be flummoxed,

Like looking at a face without description,

Gazing at a tree without its leafy, green foliage.

Without my glasses

Life would be,

As monotonous as beauty without expression.