The Eyes of New York

Down the dusty side streets,
I gaze at glamour and gloom,
Mirrored from each traveler's soul,
Lay sparks of hope,
Lay marks of doom.
Angry anxious eyes
March with covet and curse,
While widows mournful tears are wept
And stain the funeral hearse.
Amazing Asian artists paint Pandas into life,
While vendors sell their wares
In the chaos and strife.
I see gentle Indian eyes,
Luminous, serene,
Flutter like a gray dove's wings,
Amidst a twilight dream.
Green O'Hara eyes
Wink happily ever after,
Flexing, watching, waiting,
To jump into Life's laughter…
And black Romano eyes,
Flirting with a smile,
Tantalize and tease,
And beautifully beguile…
And in a fireman's gaze,
I see fettered pangs of pain,
Held within a citadel,
Imprisoned, it remains.
Down every city side walk,
Down every laden path,
I see the marks of glory,
I see the marks of wrath...
Behind every passing gaze I see
A tale of Life to tell,
Sometimes a glimpse of Heaven…
Sometimes a glimpse of Hell…

Sharon Frye