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Through The Eyes Of A Figurine
I stare at this man, so abstract in his ways
With his eyes tilted to an exotic slant
His nose, unshapely, unformed, undefined
His lips are crisply thin, and formed into a line
He is pale, yet sickly green, so unsure in his ways
And yet I noticed in the expression on his face, the determination, and the pride
The background behind him, is ghastly, and so surreal
It was as if he was like a ghost, lost on the open sea
Who is this man, with those strange eyes?
With his features imperfect, and oddly formed
Who is this creature, with the painful glare, that sends shivers down my spine?
My eyes roam over the edge of his face, his chin is sharply made
His eyebrows are like rectangles, seemingly plastered to his face
The moon hangs awfully low behind him
And its color is a deep crimson!
Who is this man that is shrouded in darkness?
Set against the background of a crimson moon.
I cannot tear my gaze from this mysterious stranger,
And he watches me from afar, seeing through his mortal eyes
With me, looking back, through my own curious eyes…
Through the eyes of a figurine
