When distracted,

I gaze into the eyes.

For it is there, ...

I often looked,

To discover the real who,

Hidden behind closed doors. ...

Today,

I’d rather float beneath,

Unheard and unseen, ...

Perhaps,

Despite the haziness,

I do know the way. ...

Looking up to climb,

Or standing below gazing,

From where I arrived. ...

Watching a river,

Soothes my soul.

The sound, ...

Sometimes I try,

In vain to understand,

What the artist feels, ...

On days,

When I’m wound up,

I habitually wait, ...

I like looking at images,

From the past.

It’s when the child, ...

I need to learn,

From those silently,

Growing trees. ...

When things,

Appear out of place,

My mind struggles, ...

Roads that call out,

Hoping to be traveled,

Are often not straight, ...

That which lays,

Hidden underneath,

Is ladened with stories, ...

Images,

Too can be deceiving.

Some no longer seem, ...

Renewal,

Comes in many forms.

Even daily, ...

I like curly hair,

On others,

Even cows, ...

Self-clarity,

Comes with reflection.

Excepts on days, ...

Some days,

We need to stop,

Hope and wait, ...

It is there,

The deepest layer,

I must deem. ...

Looking back,

I can clearly see,

There was a time, ...