My Eyes – the poem
My Eyes
Can you see my eyes through the haze and smoke?
The eyes that welcome friends?
The eyes that comfort the weak?
The eyes that stare back at you with stunned, unashamed anguish?
Can you count the times I have acknowledged your existence?
Perhaps as many times as you have shunned mine.
When was the last time you shook my hand,
even if it was extended?
Or exchanged a word?
Or looked into my eyes – deep into my eyes?
These eyes that welcomed friends?
These eyes that comforted the weak?
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