rusted.
golden brown, no longer shine.
they rest on your face.
perched on your nose.
held by your years.
ontop of your ears.
those openings which are poured through.
the words fall from mouths unwanted.
although you may block the sense which common minds reffer to as hearing.
you still see.
however, bare faced; you are blind.
but round and brown, accompanies your face.
those circular see through figures.
coated with that dark outline.
as dark as grandma's silverware,
which lays in a red velvet box.
beneath her round reading glasses.
