Beauty Is Her

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Her movement is like that of an angels’.
Soon fades the background to illuminate her dance.

Her eyes, so precious, so full of life.
Warm springs of blue shower into my mind.

And her hair, a light caramel fused with honey.
Soft and sweet is she, to feel worthy of her is a sin.
A humiliation to her presence.

Still, I dream of her.
Still, I long for her, I strive for her.

This feeling she makes me fall into,
Feels careless, but free.
Foolish, but breathtakingly wise.

When my eyes meet her eyes,
My heart beats like that of the soldier’s drum.
My lips tremble and for that I have no control.

An unknown attraction seems to lure me to her.
And fighting it will be stupid.
And following it will be absurd.

For if my secret spills to one,
Shall it spill to another ‘til my secret is done.

Who knows love? Who knows beauty?
Certainly not I. Surely not I.

As the brilliant sun lays down to rest,
Sparking the last few hours of the world
With radiant reds and glorious purples so full of strength.
I think, ‘this is beauty.’

Under the moonlight, under the tree,
I encounter the fury of the wind and the swaying of the grass,
And the silence of the sky and the miracle of my world.
Which makes me think, ‘this is beauty.’

She is like the setting sun and like the peaceful earth.
She is everything I find dear.
She is a soft song I hear in my subconscious memory.

Do I know beauty?
Yes, I know her.





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