Therapy Bits

In the quiet chamber of the human face,

Where stories gather, drifting in their trace,

Two lanterns glow with ancient, restless fire—

The eyes, those sentinels of silent desire.

They flicker with longing, or glisten with rain,

They bear the sweet harvest, the bounty, the pain.

Each glance is a tapestry, vivid and dense,

Woven with memory, caution, and sense.

Look closer—beyond the veneer of the skin,

Past laughter’s fine lines and sorrow’s thin grins.

Within the iris, whirlpools of light

Swirl with the secrets we harbor at night.

A lover may search for their name in your gaze,

And find, in reflections, eternity’s haze;

For the eyes are not mirrors, nor crystalline glass,

But windows the soul must quietly pass.

As the day stirs the ember of dawn’s hopeful hue,

And dusk paints the world in her indigo blue,

The eyes remain steady, portending the truth—

They carry the wisdom of age and of youth.

A child’s eyes are wide as the rim of the sea,

Untroubled by boundaries, bright, wild, and free.

In the gaze of the elder, there flickers the flame

Of all that was cherished and all that became.

Each meeting of eyes is an intimate dance,

A silent confession, a searching expanse.

With a glance we may beckon, or shyly retreat,

Declare fierce devotion or hush a heartbeat.

The timid, the bold, the weary, the wise—

All bear their stories in the light of their eyes.

No tongue can unweave what a gaze may reveal,

For the soul has its language, and the eyes let us feel.

Consider the stranger on a bustling street,

Each pair of eyes with a rhythm, a beat:

A universe hidden behind every glance,

A childhood, a heartbreak, a dream, a romance.

In the sparkle of laughter, in the glint of a tear,

In the shapes of desire or the shadow of fear,

We find the pure essence of all that we are—

The eyes, like bright lanterns, reveal from afar.

Sometimes, in stillness, when words fall away,

When silence grows heavy and hearts go astray,

Two souls may encounter, not through a sound,

But in the deep ocean where vision is found.

No mask can be thorough, no shadow complete,

The truth in the eyes is impossible to cheat.

They usher the soul with a gentle embrace,

And cradle our spirit in the softest of grace.

Oh, how the poets have lingered, drawn near

To the fathomless twilight of eyes crystal clear!

Shakespeare, with sonnets, or Byron’s dark rhyme,

Found muses unspoken in glances sublime.

Painters have captured their luminous gleam;

Van Gogh’s swirling sorrow, Vermeer’s tender dream.

How many lost lovers, how many old friends

Have spoken with eyes what no letter sends?

To know someone truly, to love without blind,

Is to see in their gaze both the body and mind.

For the soul is elusive, a whisper, a spark,

Yet shines through the window, dispelling the dark.

When anger ignites, or compassion is shown,

The eyes, not the tongue, make truth to be known.

So let us look deeper, with patience and care,

For the soul’s tender garden is blossoming there.

Some eyes are stormy, like seas in a gale,

Some soft as the haze over dew on the dale.

Some are the color of moss under trees,

Some hold the hush of a winter’s deep freeze.

Yet all are intriguing, unique in their art—

A map of the spirit, the script of the heart.

No two are alike, no two tell the same

Of the fires that kindle, the ghosts we may tame.

There is kindness that flickers in eyes grey with age,

There is hope in the bright ones that leap from the page.

A child lost and wandering, a mother in pain,

Both meet in the solace the eyes can sustain.

Perhaps this is why, from the earliest days,

We seek out the eyes, their welcoming blaze—

For safety, for comfort, for love unconfined,

For the deepest of truths that words leave behind.

So gaze, if you dare, into eyes calm or wild,

See the soul of the elder, the dream of the child.

Let silence be golden as worlds intertwine—

A dance of the spirits, unspoken, divine.

And know, when you linger in someone’s true gaze,

You’re treading on mysteries, lost in their maze.

For the eyes are the windows, undimmed by the years,

That open the soul—in laughter and tears.

And if ever you ponder, when faces are gone,

When memories waver and old friends move on,

Recall, in your heart, the light you have seen

In the window of eyes, where the soul’s ever green.

For the soul is not bound by body or bone—

It journeys through windows, and finds its way home.

Let this be a lesson, as seasons unfold,

As the young become wise, and the timid grow bold:

Seek not in the shadows, nor only in skin,

But look for the windows, and find truth within.

For eyes do not lie, nor do they deceive—

They shimmer with joys and shimmer with grieve.

Cherish them gently, and honour their role:

For the eyes are the windows—the windows of the soul.

Writing Prompts – Esther Chilton