A young man's dream
is to own the world,
like a trickle-beam
of light in the pearl
of his eye, which he
shuts in tight to swirl
before him, to see
privately. Colors unfurl
for him, unique to him.
This world was mine
and was precious to me,
but in ebbing of time
the colors faded to bleak.
Now hard light burning soft
places cause one squeeze,
one tear to tumble-drop
and roll away clean.
I awaken a tired man.
