Those eyes, deep eyes,
crying for your heart.
They’re looking for your soft spot,
yet searching in the dark.
Twitching with the knowledge
speechless, full of fear
Unable to run away from you,
unable to shed a tear.
Your eyes stare coldly
as your heart stays coal.
Quiet, hardly breathing,
this is your final goal.
Standing in your sights,
it’s something you don’t understand.
Your eyes meet for one split and final moment.
The sense vanishes as you lift your hand.
Those eyes, they stare in a final goodbye,
for a second do they break through.
But now you’ve called the shots,
and there’s nothing more to do.
Those eyes, they cry
as they fall in pain.
The sounds, like screams,
then die away…
© L. Rose
I wrote this poem a long time ago; when I found and read it today, it took on a whole new meaning with respect to recent events.
I wrote this when I was about 14-15, so early mid-eighties. At that time I was in class (couldn’t tell you what class) and my neighbor, an nice kid named Carl, was telling me how he was going north “to camp” (which is the equivalent of our “Up North”) with his father to hunt, and he was excited that he was going to get to shoot an AK-47. Having never grown up in a hunting family, I did not understand the hunting culture then, as I do now. But I absolutely knew that an AK-47 and deer hunting did not seem a fair combination. I did not believe that he would use the AK to shoot dear, though he implied he would, but it got me thinking and that got me writing.