"If" exists not

If the eyes were the window
To see what truly lies beneath--
Under the skin and blood, 
In kind retort
To the unkind world.

Why then are they sodden and murky?
What glass there may have been
Clouds up in a cold maze
Of delusion.
It is the sign of a lost sheep
In a class of wolves,
Trudging on, blinded.

Yet the blindfold itself, is self-inflicted.

If words were tools for exchanging
Meaning, and were used solely 

For such an intent.
And if knives were purely for the kitchen,
Not to slit each others' throats; such as if

Electricity were for light,
Not for chairs. 

A predisposition to the harmful purposes
Of our tools; we are all inclined
To destroy
Each other.

If there was a possibility, 
Something better would have been.
But perhaps 

Instead of wishing alternatives to life,
Acceptance is the better key.

Our limited capacity defines us such 

That we cope, and not defy
The authorities of life.

Yes, if only

We had the possibility
Of preventing the changes
That came stuck between.
It will not tilt the clock
Yet it remains a dream.

And as I bear witness

To time eroding vitality in those eyes, 

Washing away the memories of your words

Playing in fervent recollection of our time; 

I think to myself, 

If we'd not drifted apart.

Yet all I can do

Is hold on to the pieces I do hold, 

and I'll forever be thankful that
I met you so; in a better time, and

in the better part
Of your life.