Squinting eyes

It is strangely bright outside my window,
glaring reflections, eyes squinting just
enough to keep from blindness, though
it is somehow expected, a glimpse of insight
into patterns of the past, i am left to wonder,
to guess, possibly, that what i see is
also seen by those I long to be near,
the few whose faces are burned
in the reels of movies continuously
playing in my head, encore viewings
without end, but they cannot see
inside my mind, closed off theater,
empty seats, a family album, boxes
filled with photos of the past, black
and whites, fading colors, aged,
stuck in a time when we stood
side-by-side, gazing in the same
direction, when life wasn’t as narrow
as what can be seen through closing eyes.

                                             Jaymes Ian Woode

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