My eyes are not furnaces,
melting realities into idyllic casts
disfigured until their original forms
are but ashen memories
upon the ****** anvil.
Nor are my eyes windows
Through which I gaze
And through which others gaze back
Pure transparency
And no deception
Or mirrors that reflect
Images mimicked
Upon an insincere facade
Merely a copy
Never as beautiful as the first
My eyes are not any of these
They are pools of water
In which I see both myself
And that which is beneath
The world below the surface
Everything I see is painted me
The shade that I have made
For myself and no one else
Ugly, beautiful, personal
To me and me alone
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 1:11 PM UTC
My eyes are not furnaces,
melting realities into idyllic casts
disfigured until their original forms
are but ashen memories
upon the ****** anvil.
Nor are my eyes windows
Through which I gaze
And through which others gaze back
Pure transparency
And no deception
Or mirrors that reflect
Images mimicked
Upon an insincere facade
Merely a copy
Never as beautiful as the first
My eyes are not any of these
They are pools of water
In which I see both myself
And that which is beneath
The world below the surface
Everything I see is painted me
The shade that I have made
For myself and no one else
Ugly, beautiful, personal
To me and me alone
