Eyes

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Tiny steams of blood skate around the sclera giving them life. But when sunlight strikes the iris that is when they truly become alive. They are green. Not the type of green that one sees on trees or in the grass. But the type of green that rests deep within a still lake with ripples of amber as if a rock had plunged into its stillness and electrified it with current. 

Created: May 02, 2017

Tags: prose, poetry

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