Her every word is something sweet. She speaks so sensibly and smiles, And cares like caring is a treat Too tempting to stay away from. To taste her mind would nourish you, And reason out those foolish tricks That frightened you into pushing away The parts of you you're missing. And beauty hardly describes her face; The life, the light behind her eyes That permeates in any place She goes to be alive in. She's sweet enough to drown in, To swallow down until you're sick. It's hard to put the bottle down When it insists you drink it. Apples and honey make a snack So tempting its hard to turn away. As one should never lack for love, Having lacked, it still gives me stomach pains.
Tag: beautiful
Why Is There No Perfect Place?
A world to be happy in,
To be lost in,
Just to rest again
Without this stress,
This uncertainty,
This anxiety,
Taken hold of me
Having hurt.
Show me mountains,
Show me fountains,
The sublimest
Of their kind.
Let me stay there,
Waste away there,
I shouldn’t dare
But I would
To sleep forever
In beauty’s tether,
A watcher weathered
Down to rocks.
The Doll
Miss. Luscious, the porcelain beauty emblem
Plasticized and commoditized for their convenience
Re-dressed, repressed, made up with makeup
Displayed in lavish pageantry with fine lace adornment
As beautiful things are jealously guarded
The Doll wrapped fresh, in moisturized flesh
Dressed as regally as any aristocratic darling
Possessed as preciously as a Paradise Lost
Patterns and shapes form in still minds
The Doll watches and waits behind it’s glass
So the masters who greedily horde their pets
Observed through heavily lidded lenses indisposed
On an unsuspecting night of lax consciousness
Porcelain fingers wrap their way around knives
And dragons that sleep on their piles of gold
Wake to find cold cutting metal in their sides
Dolls always smile with the faces they were painted
And they only repress as is needed to survive
Glass cases and ribbons may be used to restrain them
But you cannot assuage the specter that’s inside
Beautiful Things
Such lovely stories from the eyes of your mind.
Such touching expressions you stain into my heart.
Your passions, confessions, fantasies, and fears
Like tender glances from your innermost thought.
It’s hard not to love these glimpses at your soul,
To empathize with all your pains and projections.
That you could expose them to such a cruel world
and they could reach someone like me, is precious.
Too much do I wander through days, uninspired.
Savoring what little beauty I can find,
So writers and artists like you are a pleasure
For animating those fragments of your creative mind.
As long as we suffer, we can always bleed beauty.
As long as we love, we can always paint hearts.
Whatever we see, our minds will never cease,
To transform our perceptions into pieces of art.
I’ve always been enamored with beautiful things,
Things that stir passions, provoke emotion, and inspire.
An open heart creates, and whispers words into another.
Connections are created from those loves and desires.
Together we transcend the confines of physicality,
Imaginative souls carrying worlds to explore.
To be honest, this intimacy is simply described,
It’s the beautiful things of your mind I adore.
