Amber Moonstone asked me what I see in her eyes.(in the picture kind of laughing)
I see in them a kind of "Send in the Clowns" the people have paid to laugh, the show must go on, paint the face so they wouldn't see.
Far from assuming to know what is behind those eyes, I will tell her and you what they said to me, when they couldn't look away from a poet's hawk eyes which can see weakness because he had so many himself.

Tender eyes in search of life’s spring
but showing the color of the Autumn
that cover the pupils moist with laugh
a moment of sadness its ultimatum,
because under that laughing wrinkles
like the apple’s core, hides a centrum,
like the one behind the happy faces
we see in the circus laughing clowns.

But look well inside, there’s a yearn
to find for whatever’s lost, asylum,
not sad eyes there, and no tears yet
more like a bottomless aquarium;
where Amber’s coral shines with light
giving a peak into her life’s album
with the pictures of a little gold fish or,
of a menacing shark a fleeing shadow.

Those eyes in a between are they caught,
a bursting happiness without quantum
and a timid sadness too shy to go out,
those eyes aren’t eyes, they are a forum
where the poetess raising among her peers
seeks to express with words the delirium
that her Muse inspire from a wounded heart
onto her literary space that’s continuum.

Like Sherezade’s veils something’s there,
concealing, in front of that public rostrum,
the smile coagulates like sunlight at down
it is not Spring out, but the amber Autumn;
but the smile is there, without the sparkling,
she don’t want to give away her momentum
where true love unconditionally is welcome
but lies shut the doors of mausoleums.

She ask me what I see looking into her eyes,
and only can say that it’s a total sum,
of feelings like the falling leaves of trees
with the sound of a heart beating’s drum,
the face promises more, but don’t dare
to let us to see but the colors of rainbow,
not the tears raining through the light from
the ever laughing Amber’s eyes in Autumn.