Do they come in blue? – A Poem by Rowe Williams

My eyes are filled with themselves, 
silver-reflected through almost clean glass.

The sight is hateful to me,
but my eyes do not notice.
They merely stare back,
dull and brown.

I try to put anger, passion, joy on my face.
To see life in those eyes.
Frantic for anything more than white
marred with faint red
encircling brown
encircling black.

The frantic does not touch my eyes.
They merely stare back.
Empty. Shallow.

They take and take, gluttonous;
filled with reds, greens, blues;
devouring love and pornography;
a dull-grey knife with crimson edge
for dull-brown eyes.

But they have nothing to give.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

E-mail Hours ©2019 Rowe Williams
%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close