Book of Poetry

Shine On Masterpiece

Michaelangelo, the artist who painted the Sistine chapel ceiling, could not have created such perfection as you.
Leonardo Da Vinci painted the famous smile of Mona Lisa, but even he could not achieve such divine beauty as is beholden in yours.
Van Gogh may have brought Starry Night to life with colors, but it pales in comparison to any single hue found in your eyes.
Picasso invented cubism, but his passionate paintings are children's art beside you, whom God created.

I cannot explain to you the inner turmoil and frustration I face every time I hear you drag your ethereal features through the figurative mud. You talk as if you have faults, and I'm sure you do, but they are not the ones you try to point out. You are blinded by depreciating humor that only grips your heart and dives toward the Mariana Trench, drowning every uplifting thing in the process.

I am a lighthouse, not a life raft. I cannot save you. I cannot fish your heart and soul out of the ocean and revive you. I can only stand where I am, and be a guiding light home.
I am a museum curator, and I have found the masterpiece of all masterpieces, but I cannot set you in your rightful spotlight until you have been dusted and cleaned and restored to your true glory.

Only then will you shine where you belong.