I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed re-interpreting classic works, as I had done in a few blog posts months ago. Then I came across the following anonymous Victorian poem.

Speaking Eyes

Here is my attempt to emulate it with a somewhat darker theme:

There’s anemic, jaundiced chatter

Unconcerned with joy or strife

That’s dispelled by language from your eyes,

Filled with ardent thirst for life.


In the abyss before and after

Human tastes of wind and fire,

No one waits to know, much less to meet

Our insatiable desire.


An infant, unfamiliar with

Its new, corporeal jail,

Must punctuate an unseen glance

With a mighty, futile wail.


There’s a demon will beneath it

And through youth it gains in power

‘Til it meets the gaze of servants

Like they’re stood beneath a tower.


And through labor in its presence

They shall win a cherished prize

In the passion both consumed and grown

By the hunger of speaking eyes.


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