Messages within a poem series. |
Who's to say they treasured her first from the glimpse of the morning's nativity she sure couldn't tell you she capsized my boat today unknowingly she smiled with poise and accepted the imperfections and analyzed the thought I was processing but I, baffled by the preface of the rain take back to time's existence speculate of the satirical decent of falsified faith for now she can cut me open and there inside she would find the hollow chamber of a fiend though to her it could only seem a blameless stray and that is how she capsized my boat today perhaps her liability of purity rests within her own solace for the equal constellation we gaze upon she views with tranquility yet mine is perpetual with hesitation and gloom is the sentiment of my own and for others to not pocket? surely she only gives what can only be tasted and not have I'd gauge my sight but I won't see those eyes again she, like the brightness of the sun does not take to turn in reverse my feeble intellect mirrors of the rugged satellite while I may not have been the only boat she has capsized I know that for certain even when she walks with conviction of a satisfied individual trails of the demised and reaped who've come before me spoil her shadow as in giving chase to her innocence a gambit I shall learn to smother and yet, unlike I, she never looks down at her own dimness that is how the morning sun rises each day how she can make things her own and with reliance and that is how she capsized my boat today. |