Through the eyes of the children –
golden musical marketplaces of hope like
middle eastern sunrise spiral along with
syrupy laughter and twilight wonder.
Portals of gems open into fleeting trellis
of truth-coloured iris.
The delicate awe and amazement flecked
between iris and the day, so easy.
It could be an afterlife again and again.
Though, stare not too long, for the perfection-
coloured albumen will burn craters in your
soul. All the buoyed comfort will only scorch
the long-lost torch you might be reaching back for.
Through the eyes of babes lays yesterday and
its miniature dragons awaiting the bell.
Burn the drag nets that scrape for the past –
lint-like horrors, be they gone. The eyes
of now carry no deathly mortgage, so
praise, praise the face, the keepers of
joy and kiss the tears that may fall.
When your darkness fades these diamonds
will light up beyond the razored maze.