Clouded Days

I had a floater break loose in my eye just the other day

The kind that makes a ghostly shadow, always in my way.

The doctors chalked it up to age, no damage to repair

And yet I feel no older, except for my thinning hair.

It was and is a reminder of the tenuous nature of life.

Each blink and freshened gaze are momentary strife.  

Despite my worsening vision and the body that house it

I will keep on pushing on, through this visual pit.

I could choose to focus on this interim distraction

Stay worked up about it, make it my sole attraction.

But like so much in life the floater comes and goes

I blink again and think I really have such minor woes.

Unlike my colleague chair bound, adorned with lifeless limbs

Or the plight of many others unable to sing Your hymns.

Still even more are dulled to hear the early spring birds’ call

And the jaded sight of others means that don’t see things at all.

Self-pity is an empty, wasted, and debilitating emotion

So I blink once more again; re-focus my sight’s devotion

To the family that I love; God’s gift to never die.

How can I grieve the vision of just one clouded eye?

 

2020