< Poems by Charles Jobson >

The All-Seeing Eye

A sky clouded over and dark,
tips of trees pointed skyward.
A gentle wind blows leaves
up and down, reaching for an event horizon.

Who knows where it will all lead?
Daily tasks becoming nightmares,
waiting to envelope us in their problem trees.

Why wait for the point of no return?
As hay moulders in the fields,
orange with straight lines thwarted
the hands are there to support us,
carry us and protect
so that we should know that
over and above

someone is looking
and knowing

even the deepest despair
is within their care.
Look up and be glad.

Poem Charles Jobson. For permission to re-use contact  godfrey@wordsout.co.uk. Painting Samuel Toussaint.