His Eyes

Twirling in the whispers of the winter, 
And rumored in the evenings past. 
A man, for his name no one knew, 
But his eyes, 
Begged to find a love that would last, 
Swirling with betrayal, 
And dripping with honey-coated whiskey, 
His eyes laid empty. 
Illuminating the shame of regret,
Dusted with hazel strips, 
And forged with dark circles,
His eyes told the stories of his past.
Painted with disappointed, 
And filled with never-ending doubt, 
His eyes consulted the shadows of his ghosts, 
Acting confident and concerned, 
All put together, 
As if, 
He didn’t walk away,  
Silently strolling into the night, 
Leaving behind, 
The distant memory of his eyes. 

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