Your eyes are mine. The same grey, tinted blue. Your eyes are tired, They swell, sore, red. They inflate under thick lenses, Your face a mismatched collage. Your eyes are not white but a dirty pink, Small veins pulsate with weary memories Of harder times. No tears but a watery edge; Out of focus. Your eyes, cradled deep in your skin, They scream for light, to lighten within. My eyes are yours, My eyes are closed, disgusted. I don’t dare grow old.
dare to see dare to hear the unknown secret end beyond amen beyond good night go where you've never been see now those eyes how very new those ears now filled with light a light shone in a universe beyond the timid's sight
look deeply sing sweetly his eyes are mine aswell mirrors of all the nothings we had all the memories no one remembers I've never seen those eyes but for photograph but they are mine they are his we connect although we don't shall I ever see those eyes again how can I when I scarcely see through the tears...
why thank-you both for your poems! davescott, the positive approach in yours puts my angst to shame! and flowerchild, i couldn't quite tell whether your poem was full of love, or sadness, or regret.. maybe all three? its always good to be able to compare your own poem to others; they enhance each other.
