Personifying vigor, exemplifying courage
They are the soldier’s eyes
So filled with rage
No martyrs too brave
No sacrifice too great
He sees it all,
And names it fate.
He sees no light, the darkness haunts
Tipping his stick
Through lonely lanes, lonesome he jaunts
He knows no fear
He knows no sorrow
He feels the warmth and names it ‘morrow
A shallow life, a deep sixth sense
Stranded in the crowd, filled with reticence
They see the future, a Xanadu they envisage
Past the fear and the stigma
The world they would change
They are, the eyes of the visionary,
Lost in thought
To end this disgrace they have ought
The cynics as they are,
At these thoughts they jeer
To value whose worth it takes many a year
Low and sunken, they hold no hopes
His estate and his pride
Is now on the ropes
Indebted to the last count of a penny
A painful guilt now pricks his vanity
Having played foul games to make big bucks
In a cocoon of embarrassment he shamefully tucks.
The eyes hold nothing but the blatant truth,
With the twinkle of childhood
And the spark of youth
With a glint of happiness,
Sometimes a speck of penitence,
Tacitly reflecting the heart’s silence.
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