Restless Beauty

Her long straight dark hair, at her shoulder it hung,

Like strings of an angel, quiet in song.

Her eyes were transfixed on the quiet still dark. She peered at the pain of my breaking cold heart.

He beauty was fixed, like dust to a star.

The shade of the night, her shadow bide far.

A stranger she was, a stranger she is, a rose lost in stone, her grace all alone.

I dare not to look, our eyes can not meet, for mine would fall hard, and hers would just leap.

Her hand i would take, and walk to a door,

Neither of us have either entered before.

Both of us enter, eyes wide to see.

The wonder inside, the brilliance to be.

This is where God goes when he idles and dies.

Angels come here to weep and to cry.

Me and my dame, were sent here to find.

Each other in temperment, a lost loves abide.

For now i know why this child i met.

And walked in the night, our hearts barley kept.

To show each other us, as us to ourselves. And stay in this place where pain does not dwell.. At long last my quelled heart, it beats for her breast. And her want is my want together we rest. Her beauty is pure, like embers of stars. And my need is as dire as the miles they are far. Unfortunate be to me is the truth yet untold. The beauty she is my life it but soothed. My heart yet still empty as a bottemless pit. I hope that my angel finds peace wherever she is. For when im with her, peace in my soul, my temperment quelled, my mind is but full. She holds both my hands, she cradles my heart, her touch is softer then feathers in the flight of her art. Her voice is so soothing it turns darkness to light. The day still but day, the night dark its flight. If i was the man she deserves to call hers. My pride and humility will vex all my tears. This is the creasture men simply to die. For her touch, for her love, i nought make her cry. Although we wont meet and make life our own. I hope she finds heaven right here at her home. I still have her image, beauty and true. I still have her silhouette dark and anew. Her soul like a poem, written with ink. By poets of love, or so they bethink.

© 6 days