St. Francis Revisited May 4, 2010
There’s a strange look in your eyes:
a sort of stunned silence,
as if you can’t quite believe
that you’re seeing what you are.
The shadows that surround you
have for a moment repented
and attacks have ceased:
unexpectedly, a moment of peace.
I see your eyes.
I cannot look beyond them:
a silver blue shimmering wall
blocks my vision.
With most people
the eyes are the window to the soul.
But your eyes are different:
your eyes mask your soul.
I try to pierce the mists,
to see beyond,
to be one of those who
walk the path of wisdom.
And I find that I fail.
All my questions lead to confusion.
All your answers, your reactions
your actions, your ways, curious.
Curious as why sunshine is yellow.
Curious as why the sky is blue.
I cannot see beyond your eyes.
I cannot see your soul.
I wish I knew why I see the stunned silence.
Perhaps it is my imagination
but I feel that I see pain beyond them,
masked and hidden away for years.
Is there something you wish to share?
I could almost swear there’s something,
that you’re not saying, that you’ve never said,
that only the shadows know, and they are silent.
Please don’t think that I am prying.
Rather, realize instead I am praying,
I wish to be used as an instrument of aid,
and I’ve realized understanding comes from the divine.
Understanding is not a mortal invention
that I can create for myself,
simply by weaving a web,
as that would be inherently flawed.
The stunned silence in your eyes;
the way you look at me:
choreographed perfectly,
yet without meaning.
I feel like I’ve met
artificial intelligence:
cold, calculating,
perfectly precise.
Yet without emotion.
Without that human flair.
And with a interestingly seeded
random number generator, but nothing more.
I wish I understood the stunned silence in your eyes.
I wish I could help you find your voice.
I wish I could aid somehow in you finding yourself.
I wish that your eyes could shine with strength.
For therein, friend, lies the heart of beauty:
the eyes are the window to the soul, they say.
And the soul is what is most alluring.
And yours is masked behind those delicate eyes:
So beautiful,
so fragile,
so silent,
so stunned.
What do the shadows know?
What do they whisper?
What truths are there?
What might I find one day?
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred… let me sow love.
Where there is injury… pardon.
Where there is doubt… faith.
Where there is despair… hope.
Where there is darkness… light.
Where there is sadness… joy.
Where there is silence… sound.
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