A star died in my eyes A black hole in my iris A light I thought I shined Instead casts hazard alert signs • My horizon is lack lustered The fall is an everlasting lost I want to believe these eventful dreams Are preparing me for the relative of death Or maybe to rest on a point of no return Such as my eyes looking too the past As the iris collapses • These thoughts are micro Yet weigh on me heavy My eyes engulf aglow Yet dream only sightly
A white flower wearing an eyeglass, her eyelash rolled Like calla lily, her bright beautiful sciera looks glassy like, brown iris and chocolate pupil rouned, Stood up her face Brighten the Android phone is softly touching, when Funda closed the shop door, she turn her face to me and she said Goodnight Beautiful
there is no way, impossible, to capture the fine single threads required to weave a tapestry of bold and delicate intertwined, of depth and surface, of a droplet of water shining outstanding in a sea of harsh blather.
there is bold, there is pale. they can coexist, perhaps even heighten each other.
but subtle is a delicacy, a single thread, a standard rarely achieved.
which is why this poem makes no pretense at subtlety.
Eyes a devil blue. Drowning those who swim in your hue. A captivating, gorgeous blue. Distracted by the iris, the pupil a black hole- a virus- ******* the stars out of people. Pulling them to the edge of your eye, you watch them from afar, as they try and survive.
her name caught a question in my throat: its first utterance barely completed and i felt her hate engulf my all. i touch the scars upon her back, still gold in the lightlessness of her doom, longing for stripped rainbows - turned to mist. she’ll forever resent my living beside her living half. my love for colors she herself once stood for too.