They say the eyes are the Windows to the soul.

But all windows have curtains, and many are closed.

You can still look at them, their colors so bright,

but the emotions are hidden, like shadows in the night.

You can still see the shade like a light is turned on, 

And darkness takes over, turned off, the light is gone.

You can still see the shapes, some so demeaning,

but only the outline, its silhouette so deceiving.

You can still hear the sound, but it lacks any context,

the yelling seems happy, or like someone is vexed.

You can still listen to conversations, the happy and sad,

but the tone sounds uncaring, through the good and bad.

You can still see the outside, it’s painted and cared for,

but swindles are common, and there has to be more.

I’m taken aback, I can’t see anymore.

The rest is blacked out, I feel blind, my eyes are sore.

All I can see is a play that’s acted out.

It seems like a hoax. My mind is full of doubt.

Despite all of this, I feel that I know.

All sorrows, though hidden, continue to grow.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul,

but even if you foresee, the blinds are always closed.