It Is Found In The Eyes Of The Beholder Poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson

Lazy days doeth come around as I sit on the grass and gaze at the children playing in the field.
My mind wanders back to a time before, when legends of old were not just story, but so much more.
How the lose of my wasted youth doeth dance before my bewildered eyes.
I reach out for a life that isn't there, hoping for just a small touch of what I can not have, but desire with all my heart.
Before me stands a knight, clothed in golden armor, smelling of a fresh spring rain.
I reach up, and lift the visor of his helmet, and I behold hate, horror, and loathing.
What manner is this that what appears to be beautiful is in fact some monstrous nightmare?
I look away, and behold a pool of water is at my feet, filled with the tears of many lives lost in a world that will forever be damned.
I hear a bird, it speaks my name, it lands upon my hand. It is a raven. I think of, Edgar Allen Poe, could it be he? The sky turns blood red, rain pour down upon me drenching me in sweet, sticky blood.
I fall asleep, and when I awaken the sky's are clear, but I do not see stars. In place of the stars I say all those great writers who have preceded me, and have long since go to that great library in the sky.