A boy not yet a man
looking up at me
and all I see is art.
His eyes as dark as
the oldest tree's bark.
His lips move
like the wind moves
the petals of the rose.
His skin softer than
the Lamb's coat in Spring.
The creases of his defined muscles
etched upon his body precisely, acutely.
The soul of such a man
touches my heart.
His elegant speech,
I fall for every truth,
which reveals no lies.
He views life far beyond the skies,
nothing but dreams and ambition.
With a tender hand
he joins my picture
full of art.
YOU ARE READING
Samy's Poetry
PoetryA little bit of poetry from this crazy mind of mine. Hope it helps you feel something. Maybe even think something. <3
