Between Wind, the World and Being

As helpless
      as a feather
in the wind that thunder blows
I bow
before a world
that I know
not how
to engage.

I have eyes
but not the how
to make you see,

not the heart
    to grow.

mirrors only tell me
what I am already ashamed of
not how to turn around
and open a new door.

Right now
I'd take a silhouette
over this reflection,

more to imagine,
more to fill in,
more to figure out,
more undone,
than poorly done.

I want to find the last
path still powered by possibility
and a better yet to be.

A touch of something less than Midas,
but grand all the same.

As helpless
      as a feather,
I want to come to rest
in the potential of a hand
attached to a child's eager eyes,

all ready to be whatever
and not only what is easily possible.

To be
the more
that is the making of proud
and better hearts.