On sad days,
his eyes tell me stories –
stories of pain,
They hold within them soft, grey clouds after April afternoon storms.
But the sky is bright without the sun,
because it is never truly gone.
I smell the sweet,
when those grey clouds surrender to the storm in his soul –
the kind of spring that promises sweet flowers out of frosted soil.
The grey clouds in his eyes…
they promise a raw truth I do not know –
one of fresh spring somewhere near
and of pounding afternoon storms not long gone.
I feel a dull, panging nostalgia
when those grey clouds search for me;
I remember walking barefoot,
catching worms from the rich earth,
feeling neither warm nor cold;
I feel peace,
and yet a somber note far off…
that this will not
On happy days,
his eyes pour into me.
They tell me stories of innocence,
of being alive.
I swim in the sparkling green lagoon in his eyes –
the depths of the thick,
endless and infinite.
I emerge from those waters breathless,
humbled by sheer vastness.
An unidentifiable cool light radiates from underneath,
and deeper right,
and sends glimmers of diamond dust
into the air around me.
When that pure aqua lagoon envelops me,
I am alone
and yet surrounded by gentle love -
alone in a swirl of magic so full of life.
And in those eyes of mermaid dreams,
the world comes alive to me.
I feel it all.