Cloud Eyes

Depression falls around me.
A streaming cascade of gray droplets clouding my eyes.

How will the mist rise
                                up
from the valley of hardship
and wisdom?

Clouds hide behind white orbs
and green crysalides.
My eyes
      wait
for wings of spirit
to fly
with clear sight
of heaven and earth.

Cataracts,
Surgery,
the Doctor says.
Thick black glasses
                    perching
on his white hawk nose.
Thin black pen
                    opinionating
on the white chart paper.
Slim black hand
                    ticking
on the white clock.

My clouds grow heavy with tears
dragging down my eyelids.
I’m so young.
The words choke as cotton puffs
in my throat.

The doctor looks at me
over the chart
with clear sky eyes.
I have many young patients.

Perhaps
Clouds happen often
In a world of pain.

Where is a healing salve?
I turn my gaze inward
and feel the healing hands
of angels touching me
through the mist.

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