Sunday, August 18, 2013

What do you call this

A fleeting glance or a sharp look 

The hint of a smile or the twitch of a smirk 

A story told without a word 

In the silent language, only faces work

A furrowed brow that speaks of doubt 

A softened gaze that whispers care 

The thousand things we dare not say 

Hang unspoken in the air

For every truth we try to hide 

The face betrays what words conceal 

No armor forged, no mask so sure 

Those eyes alone cannot reveal


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