What Her Eyes Have Seen

Steady orbs of gentle blue reflect an image of the burdened soul

Lines of wisdom, hard earned and invaluable, split the soft iris and breach the skin like the dried rivers of an ancient sea

There is a life affirming truth to the tributaries of age that our kind have sought to vilify

Tears of joy and sadness have run swiftly among the riverbeds of memory

They will flow again at the behest of time

And yet the eyes of this enduring marvel never falter nor fade

It is not in the act of weeping that we discover our weakness, rather we secure our strength and let our sorrows stifle in the sun

We turn our heads towards the heavens and declare, that we have not shattered like untested glass upon the cold calculus of our bitter reality

But rather we chose every day to breathe in life and exhale memory

Accepting without naivety or spite, the gift that it is to live with love and loss

Such, steady, unfaltering orbs are these that have wept into weathered, working hands

Skin turned grey from the ash of devastation

Hands that were wrought in the innocent warmth of childhood and cooled by the chill of a faceless horror

The unfurled wings of a most predatory hatred darkened the sunrise of her youth

And yet, as many of her year seek now to stoop low beneath the arch of their twilight sepulchre

She stands with the same assurity in these uncertain days

As she did when granted the endless hope of youth

The windows of her soul are undimmed even as the Nosoi raise foul pinions and soar across our tumultuous world

Dark shadows have threatened once before

Her tears dry and her skin then glistens with resolve

She has that rarest of things; the beauty, the grandure and the majesty

of age

M.Harding