by Carolin Messier
We all are born with spectacles of rose,
through which we see
the virtues of a mortal life.
First through a mother’s love,
then constant beauty to discover
with joy of learning as curiosity’s own child.
Through such glasses there is no pain,
no suffering, no fear,
no violence endured.
With such vision, we gain gratitude,
our existence held preciously and dear
in wonder and in love.
I’ve found again my childhood pair
and from my window witness as
a celestial filter casts a blushing hue.
Instead of graying skies and coming rain
they let me see Olympic Mountains sleep
between two coverlets of clouds.
The one below provides a featherbed,
old-time mattress made for dreams.
The other floats o’er snowy peaks,
as a duvet shaken out and fluffed
yet to settle onto the sleeping babe
safe, and free of any worry.
Each of us needs such a pair
to see our being with clarity
as it remains, from infancy to death;
‘tis the lenses not the world that changed.
This realm’s sweet beauty doesn’t fade
with age or experiences gained.
Mankind needs more opticians
to repair and to replace
those lenses that are scratched or cracked
as we injure and are damaged,
and retreat with hearts closed off
full of shame, loneliness, and loss.
Since technicians are in short supply
let each have at least a single glass,
bordered by a frame.
A monocle to aid one eye’s vision
see more than ignorance, ugliness, and doom
but also wisdom, artistry, and grace.