Cerulean eyes that morph to russet,
When danger comes forth.
Looking, watching, waiting, warning.
Turning, whipping perfect bullion locks.
Aiming, hitting, snaring, tearing.
The sound of flesh being ripped.
Death and dying.
Amazement and confusion,
Not knowing pain nor grief.
Dependant, but not too much.
A friend of many, a wish of more.
A bow is his chosen weapon.
And his eyes his gifted possession.
A stealthy poison, ensnaring the mind.
Senses.
Soul.
Entrapping the heart,
Binding forever more upon the
Cerulean eyes that morph to russet…