There is a quiet irony
that caresses the world
a thin golden thread
that will not tangle
that will not break
that will not be seen
Dance that thin golden thread
in yourself
the perspective
and never let it go
from within
I think that
the only way I can shine
like the windows
stained glass
myriad of colors
dancing shadows
in the church
light shining
bright and blinding
from without
and yet
stepping back
seeing through the eyes
of another
the beauty shining
not from without
but from within
lit from the burning
in the soul
the passion that fills
by self
and shamed
by those, so blind they cannot see
the stain

April Wells

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