His watching eyes, a sallow and sunken green, observed. They moved not with the buoyancy of childhood, nor with light hearted mirth, yet cooly. How heavy they were! How slow! As mossy boulders they ground within their sockets. Grim. So very grim. I begged them to glace away, yet they would not. This unrelenting gaze, in which I could discern no blink, quite stole the opaqueness of my skin. What had been my natural covering was rendered uncomfortably clear, as if it were a fragile pane stretched thin by aeon's hand.
Eyes of seawall concrete glared, they glared as a cataract-sun. ‘Twas as if old man winter shivered within, no campfire lit, hiding, hiding, in a dank Arthur’s cave. With an upward tilt of his jaw, a full featured scowl, I saw yet more. He had ensconced himself within those walls of stone and ‘twas but his ghoul who ventured out. For shame! He was a charlatan, the richest of beggar men and quite believing himself a renegade king.
His sea-foam eyes fogged in grief as he reclined upon the couch, a grief that spanned callous years, per-chance a decade or three. The dirty mullioned windows stole his attention in full, its beams rotting at their leisure, its panes pollution smeared. I imagined them to whisper, the man and that imposing window, to hold the most sympathetic of communions. Then all at once, ever so fast, he reaffirmed my gaze and held it strong, as if it were my very hands he clasped. His eyes glossed as a glacier in summer heat. I prayed, how I prayed, he’d welcome these sparks and fan these flames. For if his inner hearth could roar once more, he’d be restored and lament no more.
Ideas, as earth hugged seeds, were ensconced in those brown eyes. She knew it was winter. She knew to content their embryos with a dreaming slumber, restless though they were. For any patient observer, for any heart who cared to see, this was an obviousness beyond dispute. Any spring, any warm and rising sun, would bring the most explosive transformation. My lungs filled to maximum. My pulse sang in accelerated beats. With a soft smile she broke our gaze and, with a skip, did part. I was lost and found. That beginning can’t be our end. Surely destiny and fate are weaving a story of weighty worth.
Her eyes were both the sunlit foliage and the shade of their own shadows. Night and day, they were the same, as if for her the very stars gathered near, such was her mirthful gravity. Light could abandon her no more than a flame can deny its heat. As time kept its metronome march, her laughter lines did spread. The once blank notebook of childhood became the sweetest vignette. Age had written its lines from crease to furthest edge. When youth is succeeded by wisdom, it is a thing to cheer. And so, though skin did fold around her eyes through her maturing years, she held a beauty, a soulful ever-spring.
On approach, the sunny beams enveloped an unvarnished door, one born in evergreen forests yonder. My hand raised, fingers tight-tucked, breath catching in my chest, I rapped and rapped again. My heart raced. My brain fizzed. Then, it opened to reveal her sweet sesame eyes; in those orbs I once lived and died. More yet in time, with love, I pray to be reborn. For they are my kindling and crucible; into them this lost phoenix submits. Come flame. Come ash. With a willing heart, I am home to stay.
When the bond of love is made, my eyes give free passage to my soul.
Eyes that love you will catch your soul, even if you weren't aware of its falling.
Eyes will tell the truth whatever society permits.
I listen to eyes because they speak so much truth.
Eyes speak in emotion, the language of the soul.
From those eyes came a sense of home.
In the eyes is the "I' - the inborn soul of the baby heaven-given.
She reached out with her eyes has honestly as a babe reaches with open arms.
Even in the night his eyes lit the way, he was a seer, of that we were sure.
The eyes come as perfect flower buds freshly opened in the dawn.
Eyes that see are the greatest blessing, for they are as orbs that shine lights and make even the realisation of what healing must happen... possible.
In this early dawn your eyes are the dew, scattering the nascent rays, ever illuminating my soul.
They say the eyes are windows, the thing is, my love, I can see through them. I can see your pain and your gentleness just the same. I see how every emotion comes together to form the art of your soul. It forms a picture I see in an instant and comprehend with full depth. So, I see you, I do. When I say that your eyes are beautiful, its the truth, for it's not about colours or shape, it's about the loving sweet essence that is so clearly there.
He had eyes as open and honest as any child, a warmth and safety. In that moment I found my home, my place to find company when the cold winds blew.
He squinted at me through hardened eyes that once had been my salvation, but now they brought only the unfounded accusations of a jealous lover. Their color had only yesterday reminded me of my sea-port home, gazing out to where the blue of the ocean blended into the blue of the sky, now they were simply chilling. Every muscle in his face was tense and without a word he communicated intense mistrust, anger, despising. Now he stood between me and the only exit, glaring, seething, clenching his fists rhythmically...
Her eyes have frozen over like the surface of a winter puddle, robbing them of their usual warmth. She's in there, I know it, but it's like she just took a huge step back from life. I want to reach in and tell her it isn't hopeless, but she won't believe me. I want to rekindle her heat but her insides are too damp with uncried tears. I always knew she had pain inside, but now its visible on her face and I wish it would go away. I know that's a selfish want, people have a right to their pain, they don't ask for it - it just arrives like the gift you never wanted.
She looks at me like the fire in her eyes has been dowsed with ice water, if anything it makes the blue more pale. I'm not used to it, it unnerves me. I want her to give freely like she always does but she won't. It's like she just crawled right back inside some invisible shell and no matter how hard I try she's unreachable. She moves her eyes more slowly, like they're heavy, an effort to move. I want to crack my usual jokes but I know she won't laugh. I'm standing right next to her but she might as well be on the moon.
In her renewed silence, only her eyes glow. They aren't yellow like a comic book cat, but the softest of blue - like they soaked in the spring sky only hours ago and are now letting it radiate out gently into the twilight.