Killer Stare
And if looks could kill, you’d die once at the mercy of her piercing stare, which with a single blink could wash the sun up-up and away on the orchestras silent shores of baneing ballet. You’d live a thousand fiery nights-only to find her eyes light fixated behind magnifiers of truth as she’s searching for her own. She snips small fractions of tarnished cloth clinging to tables edge of those who are of higher power- kvetching incessantly upon each hour completely senseless, neglecting the nectar of life’s sweet and fragile flowers- she’s sewing in considerations and threading validation through archaically flawed carnations, mended by feeble fingers of men for centuries of generations.
Those with swift eyes avoid confrontation and obliteration, but those with mysterious wondering globes may find themselves tangled in rope, as their mind deliriously ponder hope.
Then to be revived through a pair of looking glass eyes inescapably entrancing and empty with questions, reading novels and fictions of faille souls like braille, turning pale complexions of page less faces heavy with rage filled realizations of the people and the places destroyed to create us. All for a better tomorrow.