Her Eyes, Like My Fathers Poem by James Dean

How captivating her eyes seemed to me,
Pale and blue like my father's.
Eyes that had held me as aware as I had ever been-
That my lips were chapped and my hands were cold and damp with sweat.
Yet my heart was warm,

How tragic my life must seem to a set of eyes this well read.
A set of eyes that must've seen greater love a dozen times, and known that I hadn't.
I wonder if she pitied me.
Maybe enough for a momentary slip from reality,
Somewhere quiet, that we could speak easily.

I imagine in her mind that I might be death,
Personified in pale wrinkles and wasted breath.
I would have liked to talk to her
But I had no words to give
Nor air, tears, or time.