by Emma Probst
Some say the eyes are windows,
exposing some part of the soul.
That by looking within
you could witness
selfhood's essence
beneath iris hue
Some call the eyes a great tapestry
a glorious work of art.
Depicting a person's true character
in permanent pupil's ink.
Denoting a trustworthy person
simply by holding their gaze.
Still others describe eyes as rivers,
where people can swim and refresh.
A welcoming glance bringing peace
affirming sincerity.
The warmth of all human companionship
encompassed in two blinking orbs
But do two eyes really contain so much?
When you look at mine
what do you see?
One eye remains focused,
the other adrift
and wandering off to the side
What does this duality indicate?
Does it highlight a divided mind?
Or perhaps some indecisiveness
expressed in my mismatched eyes.
If so, then my eyes deal falsely
failing to capture my view.
Perhaps the eyes are a mirror.
Any traits that you think you may see
reflect in yourself
to a greater extent
than is manifest
within me
Or maybe the eyes are great beacons
combing rock clefts for hidden truths.
The stimulus of this world
processed in depth
until every treasure is found.
The eyes may not be a window,
I don't think they expose that much soul.
But I know that they serve as a skylight
allegory of distant cave.
The mind in utter darkness
awaiting momentous instant
when the eyelids flutter open
and light, precious light
breaks through
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