black and white, woman, dark

If eyes could scream

If eyes could scream
They would demand momentos of silence to mourn their loss.
They would howl,
They would haunt the night
Like impatient wolfhounds,
Yelling to the top of their lungs.
They would flush tears from their heart, and
They would cry to wash away hesitant, weary regrets
Simply to let fresh opportunities
flourish once more.

If eyes could scream
They would excoriate the dead skin from the backs of time;
They would recreate chances.
They would scurry about like soldier ants and worker-bees.
They would build battle camps deep inside cavernous honeycombs of yesterday.
They would mine stirring emotions
To release living dreams.
They would unearth stories of wistful desire,
Race to chastise disappointment
And heal venerable wounds
Weeping doggedly beneath the heart’s skin.

If eyes could scream
They would banish caution, and rebuke sobriety;
And embrace the pittance of solace
Saved in exposed images grafted on the retinas like daydreams.
They would hope hopes but pray bountiful prayers,
And beg for mercy.

If eyes could scream
They would anguish over words unspoken and thoughts unshared.
They would take bruising walks along memory lane;
rummage unsettled sleep for answers;
scour byways of uncertainty;
leaf through time-stamped hopes
To taste one last glimpse of your voice
And a chance
to make impossible
possible again.

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