Eyes are the window to the soul,
only through tears in the skin can you see the whole.
Never trust a boy with pretty eyes,
pretty tongues tell prettier lies.
But glass is clear as winter rain,
behind iris windows he hides in vain.
Look through and stare at a soul revealed,
for too long with lies it's been locked and sealed.
And why does he hide, with candy-sweet lies,
from others who stare with truth-clear eyes?
What's hidden in a soul hardly seen at all,
fractured and shattered from fall after fall?
Why, secrets, of course, with heartstrings sewn
and whether he'll tell them has never been known.
Ask you may, but ask in vain,
though his eyes are clear as winter rain.
