When I look out the windows of my home
Do others see the things I see or are theses
things simply gone
Windows sometimes get soiled and makes life
hard to see
It's like the man standing, looking at the reflection in a
window, only to discover that man was me
Through the windows of life things aren't always
what they seem
We don't see things as they are, but what could
have been
As a boy I looked through theses same windows
and wondered why
Now as an older man, I'm still looking out theses
windows, I call eyes

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    This Poems Story

    The progression of life.