a birthday poem for a dyslexic young man who turned twenty-five yesterday
when the stars are out at night
we know the sun's deceit
counting days feels very real
counting days feels very real
though time is ethereal
one day, or sleepless night
opens up a new sight
with an eye that cannot blink
the mind unable to think
we call a gaze like that amazing
truly a gift that keeps on giving
alas, I'm not the one to hand it out
here just to shed the doubt
