Dark glasses day and night hide the reflection of my soul.
Why should I bear my pain for all to see?
Is it not to shield the glow of a rose-colored world?Dark glasses protect me from me.
Reflecting mirages that are deliberately dimmed.
As they should be when one deals constantly
In an environment of subtleties.
Roses are red and violets are blue sometimes.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust finally.

There are times in utter darkness when I remove my glasses and try to feel my blindness.
What makes me think that I could ever see?
Or seeing deal with the stark lines of today’s reality.
Vanity of vanities, to think that I could exist
Without being a bearer of pain.
Unintentional but sharp and biting.
The pain of one’s personal foolishness should indeed be shaded.
As I demand my glasses.
Reality seeking is not dying; it is living in a painful rebirth.
This time the pangs of womb shock are remembered.
This time it is your gut wrenching itself free from the confines of bestiality to emerge into a brave new world.
The taste of blood is hot, bitter, and alive as a new life force is born.

Removing dark glasses at seventy is rebirth.
You are only forty-seven for you it is not yet time for dark glasses.
Does not the glare bother your eyes?
Your pain is not yet great.
Strange how easy we weigh the pain of our sons and daughters
While we spend a lifetime remembering another pain in another time.
The time of our youth.
That is why I wear dark glasses.
I never forgot the pain of so long ago.
You see I never knew if my father cared.
You know that yours always does.