Teach these eyes to see

Of what world do you partake when outward you look?  Or inward even?  Or is it inwardly out or outwardly in?  I feel they be equals in your eyes, halfworlds in the one case, and halfworlds in the other.  For see we not all that you see.

Could I make the journey with you?  I fear the road impassible for all but gods, yet still I must ask.  Your beck rends from me all but good.  I wish to follow.

For my own reflection seen in your eyes tells me of worlds both youngold and oldyoung.  Even the universe pleads for but a moment in those places only you know.  There, where shadows dance with light and stars with worlds, where galaxies take shape on your breath, where universes unfold like petals just to see you smile, there is where I want to be.  Mine eyes ache of desire to consume that which you take for granted.  Or perhaps you don’t.

Secrets shatter under your gaze as watchfulness and understanding intertwine to pierce the shrouds of mystery which blind all other life.  But to have such vision, I fear, methinks I needs be as you, be stood upon high where other gods reach upward to touch your feet.

Already your soul guides me.  Darklight by moon and lightdark by sun, and I find my way by your lamp.

Given so much already you have, I know, yet one more gift I must request: Teach these eyes to see.

A close-up of Grendel as he looks out the window (189_8986)


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