Bless You For The Gift Of Your Eyes

It ate from within, no clear sign on the skin,
no hollowing. We used to laugh then;
he claimed health was a state of mind.

As old as I am I know why I feel fine, there never
was a day where I did not want to awake, to
rejoin life. Each day is a gem stored in my mind.

I am a rich man, would gift you this if it would
guarantee you a happy life. But it could be a
sleepless dream to believe it so, you must go

through life to realize your own beliefs. You cannot
buy or be gifted time. We agreed, young and brave,
unafraid of life’s mysteries. Until the diagnosis came.

Within days he ceased to glow, radiant energy stilled,
the rich sense of fulfilment his presence supposed
stifled in a bewildered silence.

He would not use
the term, but he knew
and began to die.

When he saw my tears he gently said, those are
tears of joy, my son, tears that give thanks. I have
none to cry but bless you for the gift of your eyes.
© I.D. Carswell 2007-02-08