If only you could see

the color of the tree,

your vision is now blurred

by days of endless noise,

you are captive of  your small world

while the tree stands in poise.

The colors that are around

no longer catch your eye,

you are the echo and the sound

of a time now gone by.

You see the beauty

with a lens

with a sight now turned dim

nothing makes real sense

your existence is a whim-

in the hands of a god you deemed full of mercy,

a god you secretly plead in the dark

to make your life  worthy,

or is life just a fleeting lark

where your days flip and turn

like pages of an untold story

you wish you could toss and burn.

Then the swishing leaves are blown

their soul never dies

as the love you have carefully grown

lights up your colorful eyes.