Blurred Vision

The morning sun
peaks through the shades
cutting, molding

his face.

His chest rises and falls.
I’m captivated
by what my tired
eyes think they see.

Mosaic art
pieced together
by shadows and light.

I look for those attributes.
They calm a nightmare.
They lull me to sleep.

They make my heart race.

Slowly his eyes open
his right fist sliding
across his eye.
A kiss on the forehead.

There in those brown eyes
the distortion of light and dark
brings me home,
to familiarity.

No longer do
I need to see
I just know
in those eyes
Is home;
calm, sweet, real


Processed with Moldiv
Processed with Moldiv

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the way our lives are reflected and seen


Break the silence. End the violence.

Felie Fel's Pages

Don't be afraid, just turn the page.

Luke Atkins

Film, Music, and Television Critic

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