My eyes don’t drip of red lusting rose tips-
Crossing the gardens of thorns,
Each weeping lover left to mourn.
My eyes don’t flood of clover green life buds-
Swallowing the everglades and forests around,
Crossing each path, eyes on the ground.
My eyes don’t bathe in the white glinting faith-
Converting the blessing around the world,
To the sins of the underworld.
My eyes don’t bleach in sunspotted yellow beach-
Adventure in the soothing sea,
Or the humming joys of a humble bee.
My eyes don’t soak in the alluring purple smoke-
Of majesty and mystery of before ,
From the voices left and called for.
My eyes don’t drown in the simmering orange of abandoned towns-
Lingering places and lives so familiar,
With people passing, hands a shiver.
My eyes don't sleep in the black of existential deep-
Questions and rallies left unbalanced,
Rest of the hopes, silenced.
My eyes don’t squander in the blue blanket yonders-
Where sky and sea and sheets become one,
Your smile, my only sun.
My eyes do cry in the mirrors of sighs-
The busting of all these colors insanity,
Residing in the eyes of humanity.
