Tell me...do you know these eyes,
staring up at the evening skies...

wondering if thoughts can actually rise
and if somewhere are heard the inner cries
of a mind unable to rationalize
the very things reason defies
like...
why when love intensifies
tragic endings materialize
in this world of ever flailing whys
where hellos are but preludes to goodbyes
and you ask yourself, if only a fool still tries
to mask the pain with some perfect disguise
as the holy man sings and justifies
what the man of science disproves and denies
until you come to believe they both tell lies
that the only truth is there in the skies.

Tell me...do you know these eyes--
do they belong to someone you recognize?



Somewhere hangs a portrait,
unobtrusively,
revealing what the eyes
would have you see...
With no hint at all
of what debris,
lies beneath this smiling
facsimile.
For 'tis a case
of the apostrophe
and the omitted having greater
importancy.
Till all becomes a matter
of discrepancy,
fantasy versus
reality,
travesty coupled
with futility...
and painted with the illusion
of normality.
It's the kind of portrait,
that pains some to see.
But be not fooled
by this forgery--
'tis merely by chance
it bears likeness to me.

________________________________
I've been present at one too many a demise,
each lives forever within these eyes.
And there's no stopping them,
although one tries...
for life is a series of hellos and goodbyes;
no apologies, no excuses,
no explanations why...
that's the cold reality of goodbyes.
And all that remains is to rationalize...
to analyze and agonize;
and, oh, how memories materialize,
as they often do when something dies,
until  the anguish merely intensifies.
Thus, philosophers attempt to philosophize
and  poets weave words to poetize,
just as I have endeavored to sonnetize
the way your eyes could mesmerize--
as though anyone can romanticize
something so  painful as goodbyes.

Tell me, do you know these eyes...do they belong to someone you recognize?
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ARIA page four...