His eyes were naive. Hooded pair of mesmerizing oculi, lashes long and soot. His eyes, they were in a word, beautiful. From afar they were a plain ebony, but up close they were fascinating, the plain ebony was so much more, when the sun's golden hue reflected off them, they were a navy, with just a gentle touch of auric. If there were lush green rolling hills, they would look rejuvenated.
They could consume a person just with the rawness of emotions, stories of bravery, happiness, sorrow, contempt, envy and the most hypnotizing of them all, love. They were the stage whose curtains were his long, flowing eyelashes. The very eyelashes that were seen when he was asleep, covering his eyes, like a warm protective shield.
Those glorious orbs, adorned with hues of his choice.
Ice blue ocean of raw feelings, his eyes open and honest as a child's, warmth and safety flowing in, the color suited his olive skin, soft pink lips, ash silver hair. Shimmering crystals, hiding unbelievable truths beneath those flashing eyes. His eyes would widen at every cheerful thought, at ever childish shock and every amusing idea. Purity blooming along the lining of his mint blue iris.
His eyelids, creased or not, a hint of flawless reality in his otherwise unreal perfection.
His eye shone, those grey hues, the envy of the storms in the rainy nights. Passion and desires brimmed the deeply colored iris, like the lightning in skies.
His eyes, limpid lakes, with those lips curved in a gentle smug smirk. Ages passed, since he felt himself, his faint red lips tugging up in a sinister simper. His sparkling eyes, giving out the deeper allowance to his soul, a saga of never-ending stories. Dark sensational tints of grey and black, as if out of pure aesthete.
His eyes now misted with tears, as a sudden feeling of sadness and rage takes over. Tear leaks out of the deep corner of his eyes. One and two. Heart wrenching sobs leave his mouth, tears holding a story deeper than the trench itself. Sadness was an emotion. Depression was a commotion. He was snatched off his inner child, a crime full of fright.
His eyes were an encyclopedia of his being. The shallow golden, crisped brown hues, turning into beautiful crescent moon as his lips curve up for a breath-taking smile.
As the days pass by, those eyes are devoid of life. Love, tell me, what happened for you to feel so despised?
YOU ARE READING
HIM
PoetryThrough my eyes you were the delightful treat, the one I wanted. Love doesn't only mean to date, have romantic dinners and walks along the beach, sometimes its the utterly dark void in you, a need to be. It is the inner voice, a want to respect and...
