How is it that such a tiny thing can provoke a universe of feeling,
How can something so small hold its own world of pure beauty,
How is it that the sound of her footsteps,
Can make my heart beat through my chest,
Tell me exactly how her eyes,
Can take away the strain of life,
I'm trying to understand how the bounce of her hair,
Can somehow extinguish all of my pain and fear,
How do small words come off so astounding,
Like she knows just what to say, to heal me,
How can she be this understanding,
So young, but so outstanding,
Could it possibly be,
Am I looking at a reflection of me,
A version of what I was supposed to be,
The product of an alternative reality,
The result of a love that doesn't leave,
The sequel to a story in desperate need,
Is she me without the demons,
Without the consistent change of seasons,
True warmth without the freeze of treasons,
The answer to lifelong questions of reason,
In a universe filled with infinite possibility,
She is a beacon of hope and stability,
She is a fierce warrior of tranquility,
She is a monument of humility,
She is a siren of capability,
Her influence,
Is ubiquitous,
Unendingly continuous,
She's the biggest win in this,
Healing hearts with every kiss,
Beyond fulfilling every wish,
I simply couldn't dream of a better kid.
-D.O.
YOU ARE READING
Through Weathered Eyes
PoetryThis book will contain poetry, prose, musings, and songs. Throughout a life of consistent chaotic circumstances, one's mind must manipulate mechanically to adapt. These words are what is heard between the creaking of the gears. There is no theme or...
