Calmly gazing Your eyes into mine.. Searching my soul.. There's nothing to find.. Looking for a feeling. An emotion I hide.. Trying to find life in the shadow of the eyes.. Quietly crying.. hoping no one will see.. Bottled up passion releases for me.. You look to these eyes for a secret each day.. Ponder all night.. In whose arms I may lay.. Through this night.. the eyes seem to haunt.. Yet they emit passion desire and want.. When all is over.. All passion through.. These eyes may not seem as they do.. For when you wake with the morning light.. These eyes turn to darkness.. ..as does vanquish the night.
Eyes are windows to one's soul. When the soul dies, the eyes won't sparkle.
Good write and well-expressed, Erica.
May Lu a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on October 30, 2003
Aww, there is nothing more frustrating that looking into "those" eyes and seeing deceit. You expressed it well. That's my take on your very nicely written poem and I'm sticking by it. LOL
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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Good write and well-expressed, Erica.
May Lu a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)
Best wishes always
from
kay.