The eyes of copper, dappled with brown,
filled with clusters of mahogany.
Looking at them, you are brought to drown,
inside this whirlpool of epiphany.
And these eyes keep shining,
with a thousand shards of glories.
Holding such glorious depths,
of many more vast the stories.
They open their orbs encasing beauty,
succumbing to this stereotypical fallacy.
They turn their view onto the greens and blues,
showcasing the ode of their troubled hues.
Yet they fail to notice they can conquer the world,
with their look drenched in the ode of this miel.
Because they are united in this garden,
collapsing against the cries of the begotten ciel.
As in this copper ode there exists,
the slayer of all founding cries.
For brown a color has always been,
the apple of many men's eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
