Yielding To Something Unseen

Unnaturally fast, the eyes scurry, like a mouse, across the surface of old barn boards and darkened windows too, until a gust of wind sends them sailing midst an airy sky. Without difficulty they drop ever-so-softly onto a magnificent pasture of green flecked in gold, white and pink. Surely it is not the fullness of the view that has drawn them in. It must have more to do with a curiosity of the mind in what is lacking, in what, over time, has been phased out. At will the imagination gracefully re-patterns one's thoughts, producing a swell of inspiration that gives rise to a voice that tries to speak of how the eyes, feeling liberated, foreglimpse a poem coloured in the heavy red and weathered silver that extends into the shadows of the barn whose blackened windows mirror the starkness of a depthless dark night, where quite possibly dreams arise, midst the invisible light.