Crayola Doesn't Make a Color for Your Eyes
Eyes
they say
are the window to the soul.
So is my soul empty, a
wasteland
of dead dreams and broken
promises and wishful hearts?
But then I look at you
and it's all okay again
So, perfection,
let me look into your soul.
Let me wish upon the shooting stars
of beauty that fly through your mind
let's
run away together
off to Never Never Land
the second star to the right and straight on
till morning
says your perfect soul
But shooting stars are bits of magic,
something Crayola has yet to find
Crayola doesn't make a color for your eyes,
Perfection,
not yet
so the page will remain empty
and my soul unfilled
Crayola doesn't make a color
for our eyes.







