Eyes

"When you want to know
If someone is talking about what they love,
Look at their eyes", he said
And it's funny because that's what I first noticed,
Not a head outlined by grey curls
But a middle-aged man with an old mind
Behind his child-like eyes
When he was interested, they smiled
With curiosity and mischief
And when he was upset, they were kind
His eyes spoke volumes, enough to remind
Of how much of me was because of him
And how far I was yet to go
Most of all they gave me permission to find
Whatever it was I felt -
gratitude mostly, but also love, pain,
tears and laughter, during which they too joined
"Why do people get married?", I asked him once
"Why, don't you want to?", he always returned a question for a question
"I don't know", I said and he nodded
"It's tough but it's nice to have someone when you grow old" he laughed
"Invite me when you do" he laughed again
And I said "Of course", resigned that he didn't say "if"
Before he told me stories of power and love and marriage and death

I was told that that's how he left
With peace on his face, and his eyes wide