Eyes:
Openings to our souls
Panes protecting pain
Concealing sorrow within
Tired, white, weathered frames
They begin unprotected
And unhardened until the
First stone shatters sand
Leaving us to rebuild with
Serene straw, still sanguine
Eventually the strands burn
And the branches break
Becoming fodder for a kiln
Kindling our insides
Reconstructing our facades
Clay heated thousands
Of degrees to form layers
Saving us from the wolves
Of the wilderness trying to
Tear apart all we’ve built
Our facades are impenetrable
Hardened and covered by
Expanding, deepening lines
Like thickening thatches of
Dark over-grown mossy vines
Pupils now darkened and
Glossed over—appearing
Concave, but are flattened
Screened in and beautiful
Against the dark, rocky red
Look at the round reflection
Presiding placidly in my pupil
A glimmer of gold turned
Upward in hope, maybe—
What little soul’s still salvageable
For more by Brittani Brasher visit @ashbrittphotography and A & B Photography