The Eyes of Friends

Blue;
His eyes are blue
Beneath closed lids.
Sleeping, or ignoring?
I'm patient.
I'm waiting for him to open them
And see me.

(Hazel;
Green, wheat; at times, honey or chestnut
The color of dying frost in spring
Her eyes, mirrors that I cannot
Seem to see through
Although she tells me I do
I want so badly for them
To let me know they are safe.)

Encourage the sun to
Play golden tricks,
Feigning jealousy
In an attempt to conceal the fact
That his blue eyes
Extinguish the starving fire in mine.

(Mascara darkens horizons
We balance on precipice edge
Simply waiting for one of us
To lose equilibrium,
She looks through me.
Behind autumn harvest
Is winter's chill.)

Sadness has no color.
We wander dark corridors
Looking for blue sky,
But his eyes are not
Nearly as empty.

(Emerald was never her color,
Looking on from the outside
As dark accused shadows
Of mockery and betrayal
All in the name of
Another's satisfaction.)

They resemble twin glasses
Stained by optimism and youth.
Despite the trials
Of being lost at sea,
Or perhaps because of them,
He never cries.

(I can always turn my head from her
But I will never stop searching
For the line between
Her double colors
Colors of vivaciousness
That do not belong in a darkroom
That only develops shades of grey.)

Seagulls dip the tips of their wings respectfully
Within his black circles.
Straight shafts of light
Emitted from the death of souls
He's never known
Cut valleys that leave deep scars;
It just makes him
More beautiful.

(And she
Fades into background
Because she could not decide,
And could not change
The decision
He made.)