They're the same, in some ways, With piercing eyes of green that strike me still in wonder. He stares down from his throne at those who have built up his walls While she looks past the aisles, capturing me in the winter of her eyes.
The frost in their eyes isn't complete. Like the white that eats at the edges of the leaves During the coming dawn and approaching night, There's something there, brittle and worn That they hide behind clear ice.
I want to know you, Lean in close to see the fractured light of your soul As it slips through the dark cracks of your eyes. I wish to know how much of the green has survived the frost, To breathe warmth onto that which you have left frigid And that others refuse to let thaw.