Sharper Eyes

It is not what you think.
You count the miles
And tally
The receipts,
But you do not see
The measure 
Of what They say
You’ll be.
And when you think 
Yourself behind,
You look to books
And study faces.
And all of your glory
Is no more 
Than the reflection
Of the fallen.
And the pot stirs round 
A witches brew
Of boiling vomit.
And in each man’s eyes
The ghastly 
Countenance
Of the lost.
The skin 
A ghostly pallor,
Each a demon
Set to devour
His neighbor.
But to yourselves
You’re not that bad.
And the eagles look down
Upon you
From high above
And perceive 
With sharper eyes
The earthbound hosts
Grubbling about 
In the dirt,
Digging 
And tilling it up
In search of silver,
And they turn 
Their eyes away
In shame
And fly away
To the mountains
Where they mourne
The loss 
Of His supreme creation.
And all the while
You fret 
Your bottom line
And fear the day
When it all collapses.
Yes, it is not what you think.



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