A Rare Poem

I wrote this at the retreat I went to last week. Hadn't written a poem since sophomore year of college. Felt great!

Black Eyed Meadow

Can you call something blind that was never meant to see?
Flowers are like that, deaf to the bees and the thunder
to my sighs, my breath.
There's no time for the flowers.

No waiting, no regrets, no tomorrow.
Death comes each day when the sun sets.
Why can't I have faith like that?
Simple petals waiting in eternity
for the sun to shine again.

Can you call something blind if it was never meant to see?
I can be like that, deaf to the cries of agony
echoing across the generations.

I can only watch, the tears crowd my Eye.
Yesterday pulls, tomorrow strains, right now explodes
into a thousand beams---except the one that hurts the most.

I can only barely hear you, time is so deafening.
A whisper of a promise, I can only just feel.

My soul waits with the flowers in the meadow.