Or something like that...

You ask me what I see when I
look into those eyes,
but vision is not a form of articulacy.
The eyes, they cannot verbalise
the heartache that they glitter,
but I'll try this anyway. It may be
the only way? Here come the words.

Imagine there is a sunrise
in the distance;
you are looking,
you are melting in this dream.

It is flaming with a passion of which
you long to truly feel. It is
glowing with delicious promises that
ooze from the slither
separating the soil and sea.

You lose all silly memory of
the fading pennies in the jar, or
the little petrol in your car, or
the dreams to be a star. No,
your senses become numb as you gaze
into the light that
smolders, shines with splendor.

Your heart succumbs to peace, it will shimmy
in delight;
tangerine, coral, scarlet, apricot, amber, gold
glisten with pride, licking the edges of your world.

They proceed to rise, elegant
in pace. Your lashes flicker as
your body liquefies in hope, a virtue
your heart has desired so long. So,
you smile. But:

Realism begins to seep through
your nooks, through
your crannies.
You hear their hypothesis. You
drown in their theories. You
suffocate in whos and hows and whys.
Stabbed by science.

For the sun is just a star at
the centre of the system they call 'solar'.
Simply hydrogen and helium and
iron and neon and chemicals that's colour true
is white.

No tangerine or coral or
scarlet, apricot, amber, gold. That
is just the atmospheric scattering, you
oh-so-human being.

The magic, she is sprinkled
in a land called yesterday, but
tommorow she will resonate in your heart
for the moments, just
like today.

So, you are the professor, who
of course makes 'scientific sense', but I?
I am the writer, who is lost in
not what is real, but
what I can feel. Which
will always be more real,
to me. You see?


That is what I see, when
I look into those eyes. Or
something like that.