(Work in Progress)
[The image of loveliness, hide behind.]
All of which, I know, to be a part of your design,
but the power of your eyes
stalls my heart and I reckon,
just perhaps, that
there is a master and meaning to
Never a moment wasted as I while
away time with you – a newfound
reason to wake up each day even
though I have not woken with you by
By God, how could I once before complain
of being alive?
Living a shell of a life that was defined
by the numbers of strife that plagued
the very essence of time.
This is the reason why humans dreamt of flight
and answered with steel wings to dominate the sky.
Why compromises are committed to settle
in a town where you swore you’d never die.
This is the reason why I feel like I can live.
This is the reason why happiness doesn’t feel like
an unattainable position in life.
You could not have been an accident,
an impossible statistic created with the stars
and dust of the galaxy, with the trial and error
of animals deceased.
Within your soul is the universe
complete, with the galaxies and
constellations flying past your eyes.
No amount of fantastic accidents could have
formed your arms so long and strong, no
amount of forgotten ancestors could have
created the path of your falling hair,
strands curling in organisation of an orchestra
leaded by a god itself.
You alone are the product
of a thousand ramblings trying
to define the perfect dream
of this human life.
Your lilted laugh
creates the Earth
to revolve the Sun.
Your anger, the ground
Modern theology is the name
you spoke as ways of introduction