Sunday, October 16, 2016

Unfitting Similes

By what majestic objects may a poet now compare
A creature blessed so beautifully, elegant and fair?
For all of natures tapestries seem empty, now, to me
As, in them all, a vision of her face I'm left to see.

Each cloud-topped peak or rolling hill which once took breath away
Is long forgotten to my mind, when I think of her today.
I would say skin is just as soft as early morning dew,
But her skin is far the softer, so that would not be true.

Her raven hair is as the night, but darker and more pure,
But not one night that man has seen has had such great allure.
And eyes so deep and placid like some sacred scrying pool,
But her eyes cast much deeper than a divination tool.

Her lips are sweet like ripened fruit from some exotic tree
But sweet enough a fruit, it seems, will never come to me.
And after many hours pouring, pondering on these lines,
It seems no fitting simile may rightly be defined.

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