They hang over my eyes,
Blocking my sight,
And they cover these eyes,
Trying to block all light.

Sometimes they fall,
And land on my eyes,
More irritating than dust,
Making me somewhat blind.

Then I suppose my life,
Is not so different,
As the similarities here,
Are quite transparent.

For like my eyelashes,
Worries hang day and night,
And they may culminate,
To block all that light.

Then they grow and fall,
To cause unpleasant interaction,
To cover my path,
As a mere distraction.

To pluck these eyelashes,
Is to remove my troubles,
But if they were to grow back,
They would only double.


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