Eyes Unsaid

Those eyes stood unsaid.
Awfully misread.
Tactfully unfed.
Besides when they got wet.
I couldn’t say a word to let.
Them never to look at me.
Like before.
Those eyes were unheard.
Sometimes absurd.
Remorsefully bred.
Besides when they fought the fire.
I couldn’t just let out my desire.
To fall back in them.
Like before.
Those eyes were never the same.
As stories, they told.
Were often cold and brutal.
And as a ritual they foretold..
The yearnings were young and old.
Words just outspoke them.
Not to be blamed.
As they came out to be bold.
When closed they chose.
Not to oppose.
The dream of wanderers.
That paid homage to the cold.


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