Pain sits in his eyes
Still, hollow, yet increasingly present
It suffocates, it lurks
His reality spins in and out of control.
In his eyes, he cannot see
His vision is blurred, he is helpless
Fear fills his pupils to the brim
The darkness cannot hide.
Perception becomes clouded
The white yellows over time, the purity is gone
He visualizes his own fate
The realization sets into place.
Who he sees isn’t him
It’s the shadow of his faded potential
In his eyes, he sees his disillusion
The fear turns into rage.
His success means nothing now
He burned the house he built
The rage vibrates through his being
His eyes are not his.
This rage isn’t rage
It is the rage he has seen
His rage is not his
And it never was.
In his eyes, there is no soul to be seen
There is a void
A void that does not need to be filled to get bigger
The void just needs to be seen.
But how can he see
When he ties the blindfold of deception
Over his once promising eyes
That are now replaced with empty orbs of turmoil.
In his eyes, life could not stay
White turned to yellow,
And yellow turned to grey
In his eyes, I see mine.
Author’s Note:
This poem is inspired by my dad’s possible perspective before he passed away. I don’t talk a lot about him or his death, but I care about and miss him deeply. He was a very troubled man, however he also brought inspiration to those he knew, including me.
Ren Muchero | 16 | Knoxville, TN | @helove_rennie on Instagram
