Black Shattering
The silence here becomes too much, and I can’t cling unto it. It does really and truly seem that I might be forever bonded to the chains that make me stay, here like a shattered diamond under the prying eyes composed of illustrious lasers, for so good are their qualities. Eyes that have the power to make one completely vulnerable. They are lovely eyes of black and many- I do not suppose that I could ever make all these various shades and gleaming, eerie spectrum of what is provided to see the world with to be what I want them to be for me.
I want the eyes that look and see and feel to bring out their lovely side, so that I can see the beauty in their black seas. I do not want these eyes to curse me in my silent reverie. Eyes that are black. Eyes that will not shatter me with penetration. Eyes that, when I turn to look at them myself, will meet with my bluish hues.
Dark will mix with goodness when I meet their eyes some sweet day, black will melt into them and they will become one picture. My blues will not be crystals shattering, so delicate and gentle is blue. Black, and blue, will understand each other.
And I will have a love of black, so pretty and true. I will not try to make the black leave. I- will look at these prying eyes, and we then will all be . . . gorgeous.
The man behind me will not frighten me any longer.
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