Why do they stare
As I walk past?
As if I had done some wrong,
Stumbled outside my befitted station.
I admit to the foul deeds
Committed in ignorance or scorn.
But, not this—this is good—
This is noble; this reflection
Seeks only to show a connection
Between the understandable
And the irredeemable.

The eyes of Argus gaze
From the ink-scratched journal,
Where I keep their judgements—
An accumulation of experience,
Education, temperament, and chance
Captured within the moment
Eyes as ours embrace.

I can tell you of them—
Their shapes and colors,
Hues and sparkles,
Moving about as acrobats,
Flying in contortions.
Reminders of beautiful,
Deep, oceanic blues,
And sweeping, grassy hills,
And speckles of hazel
Dripping through Autumn Leaves.
These contrast my twin dark receptors,
Whose beauty lies only
As a comparison to a better.

I can tell you what these eyes say—
Or, what my mind insinuates from
The hasty glances and awkward contact.
The fixture of a smirk and a twinkle,
Whose relationship extends
No further than a false estimate
Toward the nature linking us.
Take it for what it is;
The desert offers as much comfort
As deemed we deserved.

I imagine my face
Appeared as yours does now
Only a year-or-so prior.
A grim stare, chiseled upon
Hollow bones, clawing
With shredded fingers
At an opportunity
To be seen.

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