I can see stars--luminous, dancing stars,
with my eyes closed; where I expect to see
an obsidian void, I see a symphony of colored spheres,
or swirls surrounding a lustrous center.
When the sun shines too brightly, I let my eyelids drop,
little knowing that a harmony of glowing, amber hues
await, a disorienting sight--
little knowing that I can never escape the light.
I see galaxies in the sparkling swirls--faintly glowing
spirals against a darkened backdrop. Crimson clouds mingled
with blue remind me of nebulae, as do green slashes overlapping with
gold. Nomadic, spectral figurines--like canopies of
celestial dust, looming forward, their arms outstretched.
I see the sun in golden globes, Saturn in miniature discs
that envelope a revolving sphere,
while the darkness gives way like a cloth so sheer.
The view when my eyes are open is commonplace;
nothing captivating, alluring, romantic--
trees are green, the sky is pale, the ground rough and coarse.
But I can escape that--not by physically traveling,
but by letting my mind, my imagination take over my path.
By letting my eyelids fall, I am invulnerable--
for I can visit the realms and territories beyond the skies.
I can view the universe behind my eyes.