The Brown Eyed Dreamer

'Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.' William Wordsworth


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Dusk

Like the evening sun
I wish to fall slowly
Into the ocean of your eyes.

Like the moonlight
I wish the stars in your smile
Would fill the emptiness of my sky.

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Of Yesterday

Of yesterday I’ll remember,
The sharp brightness of February’s sun,
Cold air that cloaked two figures side-by-side,
Hands brushing like the whisper of the wind.
I’ll remember the hushed whir of a projector,
Shoulders touching gently in the dark,
Silent anticipation held in fleeting glances
And the fumbling of fingers on laps.
The sound of laughter will echo in my mind,
Of teasing, play-fighting and stupid faces,
And your eyes, your eyes bright in the sunlight,
Will remain long after memory fades.
I’ll remember a train ride home,
The sky fading to an inky shadow that cloaks
The world surrounding as fast as the cold,
Day fading slowly as shadows crawl in.
An arm relaxed around my shoulders,
Fingers braiding and unbraiding themselves,
In hands I had not known before,
And a soft, comforting voice beside me.
But most of all I’ll remember the moonlight,
The gentle creak of rusted swings in the breeze,
And your lips, your lips a breath from mine,
Then no distance left between.


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A Love Affair with Eyes

There’s something about eyes that just captivates me. When a mask is carved and placed expertly over a face to create a void of emotion, eyes are the one things that consistently shine through and show how we really feel, who we truly are. Out of everything in a person, eyes always remain in my mind after the memory of a face has long since faded.

I love eyes of any colour, wide and child-like or small and scrutinising. I love eyes that are seas you could drown in, with hazy flecks of colours swimming through their gentle following colour. I love eyes surrounded by paths of crinkles and wrinkles that tell of a thousand frowns and a thousand smiles. I love eyes with glints of secrets shrouded within, the ghost of stories yet untold hiding and waiting to be discovered. I love eyes that express more than words and a smile ever could; eyes that create a memory so vivid it engrains itself into our very minds. I love the eyes of children, filled with innocent delight and an unending curious gleam. I love the eyes of the older, brimming with tears spilled and frothing with laughter, bright, wise sparks of life in a wrinkled, ageing face. I love how every eye sees the world in a different way, and how no two eyes could ever look the same; eyes who have withheld the beauty of this world and have endured pain and sorrow, eyes that reflect every memory in a kaleidoscope of colour and brightness that I can’t help but fall for each time I look upon them.