The twinkle of a star
the color of a car
is never seen and adored
By the one with the Ink-Eyes.
All she sees is the black of night
Only hears anothers plight
To look at great literature and fine art
She never had the chance to start.
Her hate is deep
For those who can sleep
And dream of great things
But never hear the cries
By the one with the Ink-Eyes.
Matthew Hyatt
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ink-eyes/
