They say
The eyes are the windows to the soul,
Doors
And when I look inside
Your almond-shaped orbs,
I see an innocence
A certain purity
That has gone unnoticed.

There, among the circles
Of watery liquid blue is
Barbed wire
Surrounding a sacred
Fragile spirit.

And there behind the twisted entanglement
Of raw steel
And sharpened metal,
Stands your heart by itself
In shambles.

Broken and bruised,
Outlined with scars
And ragged tears
Stitched and sewn together
Like no one cares.

Pounding,
Pulsating,
Pumping blood
Through its arteries,
Veins
The crimson stained vessel
Breathes in misery,
In pain.

Solitary and alone,
Hidden
Behind the cold grey stones.
Built by hand,
Brick by brick,
Cemented layers thick.

Razor sharp,
And encrusted
With the blood
Of pierced fingertips.

Life dripping, falling
From the silver edges
Stained red
Encircled by black pupils
Instead
Penetrating forth
From the face of a man
Whom I consider a friend,
Looking back at me
As I extend a hand.

10/17/2000

Author's Note: written for an old friend - John, a long long time ago..

Posted on 11/25/2002
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