Black, Blue, Brown and Green,
Some shallow, some just to deep.
Lingering around their world to settle,
On anything that captures the heartbeat.
Through shaded curtains of lashes,
They peep into the crowded street.
They force themselves shut into darkness,
When the sun gets hot or the world, bitter.
They sometimes read, what lies beyond,
Through the prosthetics, in the heart.
Some dry like desert, in search of a drop.
Some like the ocean, wetness spilling out.
Some like paintings, rich with colours.
Some like books, written with blood.
Damaged, Nourishing, Excited and Depressed,
The deeper you go, the more can be found.
Eyes are like maps for deserted souls,
Taking you straight to the oasis they hold.