The ink that spills from my eyes,
Glints of dust from other people's lives.
Dust like gold but full of lies,
Like porcelain promises that break and die.
It's not my set of footprints from yesterday,
Or my own tapestry woven by my mind.
The words that escape my mind are gray,
For white can kill, and black can be kind.
I don't bleed, I just cry tears
In the form of words embedded in time,
For I want to give voices to those unheard,
And unseen by the blind with open eyes.