Blue eyes are fantasized about in every love song you'll ever hear

Green eyes are a rare, swooning beauty

But brown eyes are never talked about

Because so few people realize how much more they are then just dark.

They are they windows to your soul, and the panes are not made of sapphire or emerald

They are ever-changing orbs of mystery and laughter, flecked with gold

In the sun they melt into a swirl of caramel, the sweetness poured into the heat of their gaze

They hold rings of rich molasses, hiding secrets and the pupil away from your peering eyes

Streaks of black nearly invisible as they shed tears of amber and grief

And fire can both often and easily be seen, sparks bright against chocolate and coffee

The color of cinnamon that smiles, revealing only a glimpse of the abounding potential underneath

They strip away at your walls and beat down your defenses with a single glance

You may look at them now, in a friend or in your mirror, and see only the color of dirt

But just wait, for it won't be long until you fall inlove with the stars inside the inky dark of someone's iris

And you'll look back on this poem, and know exactly what I mean.