His Eyes Poem by Stephanie Starr

His Eyes

Rating: 4.7

He walks alone, books in hand, staring straight ahead.
He doesn’t notice anyone, even though all eyes go to him.
A guy like him could sit anywhere at lunch, yet he instead….
Opts to eat alone, and that for some reason makes him dim.

I’m dedicated.
I’m thorough.
I’m relentless. I’m strong.
I’m without sorrow.
I have hopes of tomorrow.
And I’m never wrong.

His attention is captivated by his books, always close by.
It is easy to tell how the book is just by his face:
A bored expression, a burst of laughter, a gasp of surprise.
I want to captivate his gaze, be the face his crystal eyes trace.

I’m hopeful.
I’m hesitant.
I’m curious. I’m worried.
I’m without reason.
I have thoughts of treason.
And I won’t be buried.

My careful steps lead me to the table where he sits.
Eyes burn into me as I ask him about A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
He slowly looks up at me and his clear eyes are lit.
They pour into me, a lighted dark tunnel, and I am ripped at the seam.

I’m overwhelmed.
I’m inspired.
I’m floating. I’m uncertain.
I’m without stability.
I have glimpses of tranquility.
And I’m behind the curtain.

We talk every day, and lunch is a shared meal.
I learn the sound of his laugh, the twinkle in his chandelier eyes.
He is like an orange, with a tough skin that has to be peeled.
Underneath, he’s full of sweet and fulfilling juice; an honest soul, nothing to hide.

I’m astounded.
I’m joyful.
I’m exhilarated. I’m content.
I’m without a trail.
I have no limits of where I can sail.
And it’s nothing anyone can prevent.

I skip through the halls everyday, as eyes burn through me.
They whisper, they wonder, and yet I don’t care.
We explore and laugh together, for the whole world to believe and to see.
What’s between us is more, a diamond to their mica, and of the sharp edges they are scared.

We are a pair.
We are a team.
We are chosen. We are endless.
We are without letters.
We have gifts from a better.
And we will take the test.

One day, I race to lunch to give him a hug.
But the seat next to his is taken, a blonde beauty chattering on.
He spills later that she’s just great, and he sits in a dreamy daze even though I tug.
I just stare into his sea-glass eyes, and try to look past the clouds for so long.

I’m shocked.
I’m torn.
I’m fallen. I’m above.
I’m without help.
I have no guide to who I yelp.
And I think I’m in love.

We all sit together now, a team of three instead of a team of two.
She’s all that he sees, a perfect ruby that shines red dots into his sparkling eyes.
I keep searching the past, desperate that it wasn’t a lie, fearful of the truth.
One look at his moonlight eyes, never looking at mine, and I want to die.

I’m the best friend.
I’m the helper.
I’m the companion. I’m the shoulder.
I’m without his attention.
I have a perfect view of his intentions.
And yet I refuse to be bolder.

I see them holding hands, passing notes and laughing together like we did.
I read one of them; the I heart you should have been mine to declare.
I saw their first kiss, his eyes of sunlight hitting water dulling as he closed his lids.
His locker is covered with her, her scent, her smile, and it is too much to bare.

I’m shivering.
I’m shaking.
I’m sobbing. I’m alone.
I’m without him.
I have no way of getting to the brim.
And all I can do is moan.

In science class we have to dissect a mouse, cutting apart it’s soul.
I look at the knife, it’s shininess reminds me of him, of his glassy eyes.
The knife is suddenly stained with blood, my blood, and he cries out as I am at last bold.
He finally sees me, and only me, my wishes fulfilled as I heave on last sigh.

I’m dead.
I’m gone.
I’m a whisper, to be repeated on and on.
I’m not without love, which I found.
He gave it to me, enough to keep me safe and sound.
And now he lives in the past, searching for answers.

Yes, he finally sees me, and I have his attention, as I am the one held.

Subroto Chatterjee 22 August 2009

They call that puppy love.....all natural....many American songs on this theme... Cheers. Subroto

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Siddharth Singh 09 August 2009

Easily the most unorthodox piece i have read on this site, It's like a screenplay. Amazing work. It's a ripper. Obviously 10.

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Tobias Caldicott 04 August 2009

I can see where your comming from, I realy was sadened by it memories are what make us and ruin us. Good work but may I say just keep it breif and keep the words and emotions strong! NICE tobii :)

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Branden Aeling 30 July 2009

i must say this by far was my favorite. i know the kinda guy you described because im very similar.

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Keith Hendrickson 29 July 2009

well worth the read. it was like a movie huh? ? ? i liked this 1 a lot...

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