The Doctors Who Kept the Eyes

The Doctors Who Kept the Eyes

They wore white coats and clean smiles,

hands steady, voices rehearsed,

speaking of care and treatment,

while something cold watched from behind their eyes.

The jars were hidden at first,

lined up like secrets that refused to rot,

each pair staring through glass,

seeing everything, forgiven nothing.

They said it was science,

said it was curiosity,

said understanding the mind required possession,

as if sight itself could be stolen without consequence.

At night the room watched them back,

rows of silent witnesses unblinking,

eyes that had seen terror,

eyes that remembered being alive.

No diagnosis could quiet that stare,

no degree could wash the guilt away,

because knowledge taken without mercy

always finds a way to look back.

And somewhere in the dark,

those eyes still wait,

not for revenge,

just for the truth to finally be seen