Red eyes.
Red, tired, weepy eyes.
Wandering about their surroundings.
Wondering about their life.
Seeing planes go, seeing planes land.
Seeing life go and by.
Red eyes.
Red, tired, wide-open eyes.
The world's angle
shrinks through an ovular,
cold, see-through plastic hole.
Red eyes.
Red, tired, weak eyes.
They look deep into the night
and spot
some of many bodies
being flown by a stranger
towards uncharted stories.
Red eyes.
Red, tired, wandering eyes.
There goes the ocean.
There goes love, and hate.
Kisses and pain.
Lives and death.
Red eyes.
Red, tired, washed-out eyes.
Trying to find relief.
Searching for hope.
And it goes, goes, goes.
Flies away.
While my forehead is smashed
against the inner carcass
of the metal bird
caging me in.
Her and her red eyes.
Taking her away.
Her and her red eyes.
Red eyes.
Red, tired, weary eyes.
See the land
magnified through silent water
flowing down.
It tastes like salt.
Like the sea.
Like home.
Like the past.
Like what is stripped.
And who she is.
Who she will never be.
Red eyes.
Red, tired, wayward eyes.
Torturously refusing to look away.
So they take in all their suffering,
all the fear of new lands
now under her.
Of unknown futures
laid ahead.
Of a hidden adventure
concealed dance,
dark joy, and sorrow, path, and trail.
They look into their owner.
Red, tired, wretched eyes.
engulfed in confusion.
Left without an excuse to find a home in anything they see.
Forced to look within.
Into my unmapped soul.
Into the unfamiliar hollows,
where sin and unforgiveness lay,
beneath layers and layers of dust and misinterpreted identity.
Red eyes.
Red, tired, wry eyes.
Rolling.
Tracing the top corners of their vision.
Hardening themselves.
Cynical, suspicious, and taunting the world.
Let the hearts break and raise a glass
they say,
to memories endured
and dreams folded
and stored.
And to these red, tired, worried eyes.
Written on the red-eye when moving from Barcelona to USA indefinitely.