I once read
That eyes are the loneliest creation of God
I thought it too
Beautiful it was
Fleeting, its disgrace
It left as it came
Momentary as a dandelion breeze.
Eyes could not say
How the waves thrashed against the sand
And almost consumed the Earth.
It could not word
The poignant love
That tore lovers apart.
It could not grant
A heart's ceasing wish.
Eyes are helpless
It cannot stop a war.
It cannot caress a wound.
It cannot speak.
But all the while
Eyes held onto the color
That a heart would have let free
That a hand would have clutched none
Eyes are sublime.
Eyes are poetic.
Eyes are the truth
That we seldom hear.
YOU ARE READING
Can Poetry Heal? - Collections of a Wanderer
PoetryIs there a way out from this labyrinth? Maybe in poems and unsaid love we can seek refuge. Perhaps, this is what we stay alive for.
