It's the eyes,
they always tell a story
Even in the darkest times,
the eyes hold pride and glory
When they're empty
there are plenty
As the lonely
seem to stick around

I do see smiles,
I can hear laughs
Yet it's the eyes
that always cry
They carry a weight
in bags, a trait
I always say
is not evidence that
I'm tired

If I'm not wrong,
eyes don't belong
on your head
forever exposed

Forever exposed
to all of those
who seek to
figure you out

Although I'm glad,
they are my weakness
Many I've seen
could have been
less than signs of kindness
Understanding why
we lose that light in our eye
was never an ambition of mine