Eyes of behind

I am at a point to where even my truths become their lies,

as I sit here to wait for what never was meant to be.

I cry at the loss of who I could have been,

trying so hard to see her face.

She sings to me songs that are country,

whispers the rain blessed by snow.

Holds my heart in her desire,

but truthfully doesn’t think I know.

I carry her picture around inside,

where only I can see its true light.

Destined to understand dishonor,

I am found by love in her eyes.









Johnny Newell