Bright eyes reveal the brightness within.
Black eyes reveal black hearts.
Blank eyes…blank blank blank.
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. – Eliot. The Waste Land
It’s a different sort of quiet here, one not predicated on sound.
It’s the solemn buzz of life beaten down by little to no recourse.
Blank eyes staring straight ahead, in a daze.
It’s the shadow side of conformity.
We are Etherised.
A flame is but a flit in time.
Give me in its stead the constancy of running water,
the eternal unyielding spring.
So that I may come forth renewed
I can see your eyes when I close my own.
Here in this darkness I say I’m sorry I failed you.
You have no name to me, you have no face to me. But still I say to you my dear,
Bright eyes, please shine on.