I used to draw eyes

I used to draw eyes.

 

Things beautiful and bright,

Made of shadow and light,

Some obscured, full of tears,

Rounded by surprise or by fears.

 

Maybe I needed someone to cry for me,

Or maybe I needed other eyes to see,

To give me a different perspective,

Or to see me, something reflective.

 

I used to draw eyes.

 

And then, one day, I just stopped.

No more of those eyes popped.

Maybe I finally saw what they’ve shown,

Or maybe, just maybe, I learnt to use my own.

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Darkness

There is no such thing as darkness.
It’s just the absence of light,
It’s a lack of something you need,
But not something to make demands.
So when the darkness grows heavy,
Look at it and turn on your shine,
Tell it why it is nothing at all,
And why it has no power over you.
The moon and the sun do not fear night.
They decide, instead, when to allow it to be,
And the flame fears not the shadows,
But makes and unmakes them at will.
Darkness to light is not water to fire.
If anything, the only thing it can do,
Is make a contrast to make it seem brighter.
You are not the reflection in a piece of glass,
Waiting for something to hit it just so,
To break the gloom into little rainbows.
Instead, your soul burns hot and bright,
So remove the cover over your lantern,
Remove the things that keep the flame in check,
And light it all up from the inside.
And the things that skittered in the dark,
Catch them, burn them, and light their ashes
To pave the road for those who are yet to learn
That darkness is just the absence of light.

The Light

I saw this prompt (https://sarainlalaland.com/2018/04/14/i-challenge-you/) some time ago that sparked my imagination, but, especially with the A-to-Z challenge, it took me forever to find the time to actually write the idea down. So, apologizing for the delay, here it is now:

There was a window with the light switched on
Day and night, bright light shone out.
There could have been so many reasons,
Some happy, some hopeful, some gruesome,
A forgetful spouse leaving on holiday,
A light to guide someone’s way home,
A sudden death advertised by dark irony.
It was none of those reasons though.
Because, you see, the window was not a window,
And the light didn’t come from within at all.
The window was just a clever little mirror,
Turning on lookers the inside of their soul.
So tell me again, how bright did you say
You saw the light in the window?