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Polished Eyes

Looking at the world with fresh eyes
means that all the things that once were new
are new again, as if time rewound.

It is truly a strange spectacle, that
I see all the best in us around me with regret
and with so much fear and angst.

It is good to know that the Pandora's box
of my soul has the same tell-tale hope left.
The story is aptly appropriate in its scale
and its subtle truth.

The fantasy of our problems grandeur
is nothing more than an all too real illusion.

Even if I am hanging on that sad pebble,
it is the real I have always and evermore desire.

These new eyes of mine allow me new insight
as I remember you with an impeccable polish
--the bright glow of your pale skin
and how I can almost see myself in you.

It's not that you are without flaws, (and who is?)
but you are pristine in a way that makes me shine
and excites me for all future possibilities.

Unfortunately, my new eyes tell me
that I deserve you just as much as the old ones did.
And unless my new eyes can will this old body
to convince of you of our worth,
the greatest in you is not but a passing image
and a fleeting last feeling for me.