There he sat, unfathomable irises in a trance,
Anytime I spared him a glance.
I always did wonder why,
He clutched the book with a strong hold,
And occasionally releases a blissful sigh,
But still manages to be stone cold.
Sometimes though, there were better days,
Which was proven by his frequent stays,
And also the uplifting of his cheeks,
Which gave his grim face just the right tweaks.
When the teasing drizzles of one night turned to showers,
He stiffly sat like he had during the preceding hours.
Although the book was still in his possession,
And it's enigma his obsession,
I saw something that I never thought would be,
Those caged eyes were finally free.
As tear tainted rain ran down his face,
I found myself wishing I was in his place.
I wanted to know how it felt,
To not be held hostage by all with which you've dealt.
But how was I to know that when the die was cast,
That fateful day ended up being his last?
My longest poem so far!
