Her hair, golden brown and lace
Her smile, shining like the summer sun
Through the hazed windows of my eyes
Her love for me is never to be discovered
Yet the hollowness in the pit of my soul
Reaches out for her to fill;
But she does not hear the voice yelling out to her
Nor does she see the flashing blaze within my eyes
Every time I look upon her visage –
All she sees is what appears to her on the outside:
The inside remains within, where she will never
Take the time to search out, for souls do not impress upon her;
And yet my heart still breaks when she looks upon another
How I wish she would look upon me, with those dreamy eyes
And those wondrous words emerging from those pleasurable
Lips, but only pleasant to look upon, for nothing more than that
Will be mine to have, nothing more than a stolen glance or a treasured
Word spoken in pleasant conversation; pleasant, meaningless conversation.
May 4, 2000
