These are not poker eyes, they can not tell a lie. They are the eyes you want to look into when you are dieing, they are the eyes you find when seeking the truth. These eyes are a new color to every set of corresponding eyes that dare to look into them when speaking. The swirling palette of hues they call hazel tries to follow and focus the shifting looks of others, their retinas beam in all directions to avoid my stare.
It is the look of compassion, a mother with no children but the world at large, a bleeding heart, and seeker of stray bits of humanity. Until the lids close over them, and you are forgotten.