Like a statue of Adonis, perfection consumes you.
In the face of the sun, you drink in the morning’s dew.
Sitting, standing,walking, in your every movement you look the same.
Too stiff, too rake, too placid, your very aura too tame.
What’s behind those vacant eyes?
A hint of life demanding release,
Or an empty vessel I do not see.
Your vacant eyes hold a spark,
One that so captures a heart.
Like a delicate porcelain doll, flawless in every way,
But no intelligible jargon do you possess in this state.
Still, the insights of a thousand year old solar lies beyond the suit,
One of philosophy, dramatics and harmonious venue like the magic flute.
What lies beyond these vacant eyes?
More than catatonic pleasures of spectators’ wares,
Laughter and gasps of shock to fill those days.
See me,vacant eyes,touch soul to soul.
Feel me, vacant eyes, and fear no more.