Windows to the soul
Her eyes were a crystalline blue,
Just cracked open for the first time in her existence.
They charmed all that gazed upon them,
Spellbound and terrified by their helplessness and innocence.
She was their hope. She was their doom.
And her eyes were a crystalline blue.
Her eyes were a sparkling blue,
With speckles of residue pain dripping from their corners.
They stared down at the grazes on her knee’s,
But his arms were already peeling her off the gravel.
He was her protector. He was her oppressor.
And her eyes were a sparkling blue.
Her eyes were a dark framed blue,
The lashes that encompassed them coated in a comical sapphire
Plucked from the clasps of her mother’s draw of war paint.
She was her idol. She was her rival.
And her eyes were a dark framed blue.
Her eyes were a synthetic blue,
Round, dilated, big and bloodshot,
Mirroring his glazing, rolling, quivering emeralds.
He was her lover. He was her fatal flaw.
And her eyes were a synthetic blue.
Her eyes were a hopeless grey,
Stripped of the makeup she hid behind,
Forcing the torment and tears to the depths of her mind
As she addressed the despairing congregation.
He was her “soulmate”. He was dead.
And her eyes were a hopeless grey.
Her eyes were a lifeless blue,
Just touched shut for the first time in her existence,
Flawless and tragic, enclosed by the delicately painted lids,
Watched over by those she once charmed and terrified.
She was their hope. She was their doom.
And her eyes were a lifeless blue.