Eyes
Eyes. What?s the point in them. People say they?re there to look beautiful, maybe they?re one way to tell if someone is lying in your face, that eye contact is a sign of respect. Well, all those people are wrong. The Eyes are one thing, and one thing only. Windows. Yes, they?re are windows and nothing more.
They are not shiny, they?re not glamorous, or pretty or beautiful for that matter. They are Windows.
A Delivery room. The place where babies are being born. The mothers screaming, the father?s panicking along side, the doctors rushing though with procession, the blood is flowing, the sound is raising, then silence. The bundle of joy, the package from a stork, the gift of God. The Baby is Born. At this point all you can see is a bright White Light shining in the windows. You can see Love in that mother?s Eyes.
Time Comes, and time goes. Humans try to beat the clock. They all ways Fail, And there?s always War. Supplies are low; Men are cheap. Call For the Draft. Round the world They Come, Some as Men, some as Boys, but the best come as Fathers. Bombs are dropped; cities are destroyed. Forgiveness is all that is asked. God doesn?t bother with things He did not make. Armed with rifles the men go in. Ammo?s low; Casualties are high. ?Wait for the whites of their Eyes boys.? But in their Eyes all you see is Blue Frosted Windows. The Blue light is Cold, Cold and Numb, Numb with Fear, Fear of Dying.
War is Over; Peace is made. The Dead are counted; new wars Begin.
Dad?s not coming back. The Baby Is A Boy; The Boy Lost His Dad. The Boy Is a Man; The Man Lost his Trust. Isolation is the Key; Redemption is but a tool; Revenge is Priority. The Mafia is formed. Death Becomes Fun; Killing is a Game. Homicide is a Trill; Genocide is only the Beginning. You meet the Man. His Hobby is Death; The Grim-Reaper is his Job; Playing God Is his Favorite game. Try to look in His Eyes. The Darkness Blinds you; The Evil is paralyzing. The windows are shattered.
The Eyes Are Windows To The Soul Indeed.