Through the cracks of the fingers,
Those eyes were searching,
Searching for perhaps a question,an answer,
Deep as black yet light,
It was easy to peek inside that unfamiliarity,
A meaning present with the absence of support,
The hands trembled with perhaps a fear of real
strength unbounded,
The eyes were black telling a transparent story,
They shined with a story but never blinked
to turn that page,
The trembling hands no longer covered that muffled
Muffled with a different black,
The hands reached out for the gun,
They were still trembling,
Perhaps there was an emancipation in those hands,
But the eyes closed when the gunshot silenced