The eyes of an elder,
They may be blind with age,
Not able to see all the beautiful
Details, colors and shapes
That surround him.
But his soul grew keener with decades;
It sees beyond this world now,
Into a different plane of existence.
It looks through a window
My soul is blind to.
Having lived through everything,
He knows now
What is important,
And how to let go,
Say Goodbye,
And step through the door...
©Olga Gavrilovskiy 2013

Elder, eyes, window, door, death.

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Olga Gavrilovskiy
almost 7 years

Thank you, Julia.

Julia W
almost 7 years


Olga Gavrilovskiy
almost 7 years

I wrote this poem after finishing a painting of my great uncle. He has passed through that Door a few years back. I'm glad it speaks to you. Thank you for your comments, Cory.

Cory Garcia
almost 7 years

Amen :)

Olga Gavrilovskiy
almost 7 years

Someone else's words about my poetry: 'Consoling and rare, tears of diamonds'

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