Sad hue of stormy skies weathered far too many times.

Others just see the gleam of blue crystal, the color I had long ago when worries were alien to my small mind.

Now my iris, pattern of blue flames, rages on in an attempt to fight the battles life throws it's way.

Always burning bright in despair, rage, or joy.

My fire is marked in my eyes and will never leave me.

mixed starlight

and shared smiles.

a selected ice blue some days,

a springtime green others.

with bits of sunlit gold.

loving laughter and

overwhelming creativity

oozing from the

colored worm-holes.

we call them eyes.

My eyes are turquoise. Despise is your choice. But these colors just rejoice. Blue and green, you and me, two parts of the same symphony. These instruments are meant to play in medley, harmony aplenty, and not simply to be mere cogs in a weak machine. I blink because I'm not trying to stare-down my desktop screen. Truthfully, and not boastfully, I'd say turquoise signifies tranquility, serenity, to replenish thee, like the mana or energy emanating from a healthy tree. This healthy H to the U-E that is T to the U-R-Q-U-O-I-S-E, is indeed happily inhabiting the windows of this soul speaking through this writing and seeking to be enlivening audiences from far and wide via Prose. No matter how hard you try, these eyes will unhypnotize you - no Lead to your Gold, no Jafar to your Sultan. Green and blue essences combined create a potent potion. My third eye, likewise, is open, but this organ of "mine" isn't quite turquoise. Want to see? Turn off your inner-noise, open your inner-eye, and wink back at your inner-voice energetically, visually expressing itself through these very words winking at you as one, smooth, turquoise hue.

A shade of blue people see, but to my eyes my blue... shapes me and who I am, who am I, I am a person of wisdom, a person who is strong, but I can never be strong if I did not have jehovah. He created such things as blue eyes, starry nights and everything around you. He knows me, but he also know you and who you are and your eyes.

They are the colour of fungus growing on toes. And the colour of boogers hanging out of your nose. The colour of mildew around the tub drain. The colour of decaying, long-dead, zombie brains. The colour of seaweed washed up on the shore, of mold on a sandwich, of a rotten apple core.

I never thought I'd age, no one ever does...you see when you're young and waiting for life to begin it never feels like you've begun. It always feels like you're waiting. But the eyes they capture everything. The eyes see each storm and every joy. In time, they gather laugh lines around the corners and worry lines form in between from hours of responsibility. Below is a shadow, whether from a night of partying the night before or a sleepless child the onlooker will never know.

The eyes they are the doorways to the soul. The points of light and shadow that show our age yet are ageless.

Glowing orbs of green light surrounded by darkness and yet there is light. Throughout my life my eyes have changed from blue to green to a golden brown, but in recent years the depth of the green has grown stronger, the flux between shades is permanent a foresty emerald.