One must invent a word, true and grand,
that captures what the eyes contain within,
for though the gaze may seem to merely stand,
it does much more: it wakes the soul from sin.
In them, the world itself does pour and spill,
love and hate, loneliness and fire’s flame,
a mirror true of all humanity,
a beacon in the fog, or fire that calls our name.
What then do eyes do, if not to behold?
They are the port where the soul finds its guide,
and a book where the day’s journey is told.
They are the key to life, to all its meaning,
a deep sea, calm or filled with death’s wailing,
that reveals the soul, and its quiet beating.
