The Power of Poetry
Her Eyes Can Only See

She is looking
Awaiting the oncoming of some event. Whatever it is, there’s no rush. She can wait. She will be here until the end of time if need be. Unless she leaves or her eyes stop watching and waiting for something more than she has now: an endless infinitude of gazing at nothing in particular and getting lost in her thoughts and what may come next.
A gaze that is everywhere, at once. It is deeply present for every living thing but also floating in the vacant space above. Wide, blue, and placid like a lake: she can watch everything but not get drawn into anything at all. She is a listener and nothing else, so she can listen without a conscience. She has seen it all and heard more than enough.
She is a way of seeing, and seeing is a way of not having feelings. A task to carry out: feel nothing at all, let the world assimilate through her. She will never have emotions, so she need not care about them, or anyone else’s ever again. Her eyes can only see without being touched by love, hate, or fear.
The woman’s glance
Took my soul and essence,
And confirmed them to me.
Poetry is everywhere 💚 But the question is, how much do you love it?






