A few days later, <br />the newspapers tell the story <br />of a young woman found on the beach. <br />She had been strangled, <br />that is all the police would say. <br />There were no photographs; <br />the family had to be informed. <br /> <br />Sadness filled him. <br />Who was this girl whose death he saw? <br />The question bothered him. <br />What kind of eyes was he given? <br />Where did they come from? <br />Who was the previous owner of these eyes? <br /> <br />Days followed days, <br />his restlessness grew. <br />He had to know the answer, <br />of whose eyes he had. <br />Through the years, he had saved <br />a little bit of money here and there. <br />Maybe if he hired someone. <br />He could get the answers that he sought. <br /> <br />He paced around the flat, <br /> desperately trying to think, <br />what he must do. <br />He must get some fresh air. <br />In the streets he wandered aimlessly, <br />faces became just a blur. <br />Suddenly he stopped, <br />and took a second glance. <br />It was the young woman <br />he had seen being murdered. <br />She was standing waiting <br />in the queue for a bus. <br /> <br />He had to speak to her, <br />warn her of her pending fate. <br />He tried to get across the road. <br />A bus stopped at the queue. <br />When he finally managed to cross, <br />the bus had driven off, <br />and the young woman was gone. <br /> <br /> <br />To be continued…….<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/eyes-of-mr-d-part-2/
