A wise man once told me,
Your eyes are the windows to your soul.
Lately through my windows all I see is fog.
There is a storm brewing right on the horizon,
The sun doesn't shine outside these panes.
My internal field lacks vegetation, there will be no crops this year.
The roads are all deserted, and the wind barely blows.
The rain lands with a ferocious velocity, it makes the only sound.
There are no neighbors outside these windows.
One will never know the season in this world,
For despite the grounds being bare, it is always cold.
No colors in this realm, shades of black and gray reign.

The life inside my eyes was taken from me, stolen.
All because I showed someone else the world outside their own windows.

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