Hate-Filled Eyes

I once passed a family

of Eyes on my nightly walk

through the park. They stared

at me, perfectly still, save for

the movement of their feathery husks.

They were perched on a low hanging

branch of an oak, staring, staring,

staring. I stopped, looked up at the

diamonds above, trying to keep a level

head. But the stares, the constant stares

brought my anger to a boil. As a great

fury filled my veins, I turned to stare

right back. But what I turned to                

was Hell. Eyes full of scorn, Eyes full

of wrath, Eyes full of prejudice stared

at me. The fear, my fear, escalated so

rapidly, alongside my heart, that I

ran, took flight! But the Eyes

took flight as well, intent on

me joining them in Hell. And so

I ran, ran through the underbrush,

ran through the shrubs and thicket,

all to escape the hate. I looked

up, up toward the diamonds, seeking

desperately for a reprieve. No diamonds,

just Eyes, Eyes all around, watching for

any mistake. There is no escaping

Eyes filled with such hate.