These words should not be read beneath <br />the light, not even the moons for fear <br />that they will not be seen as they should. <br />These words should be read in a quiet corner, <br />on a bench in the middle of desert <br />where the bus comes only once a year. <br /> <br />I have written these words in father’s workshop <br />when I was small and all the world could be fixed. <br />The old rocking chair would rock again, the doll <br />with only one eye would see one day soon, at <br />night he worked and kept the night owls alive. <br /> <br />This part of me is not for the near sighted, the far <br />sighted, the seeing or the blind but for you who <br />have seen today and how it washed up on <br />the shores, how the shells and stones were not <br />as brilliant as yesterdays. It’s all the years and days. <br /> <br />Gone all gone, out to sea on the ship that sank <br />in the harbor. You were on it and I called to you <br />for days and years and still there are nights <br />that you are next to me and the wind is always <br />whispering, “this one cannot be fixed”, and <br />as the days go, it still has not been fixed.<br /><br />Ben Paynter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-the-days-go/
