She is the reason mankind ventures off to explore beyond the stars.
Why the snow melts and flowers grow.
I hear her voice in a child's first laugh.
But she was not beautiful,
Not even pretty.
She was art.
Too valuable for even the most renown museums.
Art that made my flaming heart explode.
Yet she does not belong on display.
My fingertips lightly trace her painted canvas.
With every sway of the brush
I see her smile, her eyes, her lips, her heart.
The way she talks gives prisoners hope.
YOU ARE READING
Numbing Waves
PoetryA compilation of short stories and poems about mental disorders, love, sexuality, and whatever my happens in my life worth writing about. These are the deepest regions of my conscious written down.
