Your smile;
Are you not the source from where the sun gets its inspiration?
Are you not the radiance that the stars mimic? If roses had an ounce of your courage, they’d bloom before they blossom.What if lilies had just a tad of your tenacity and discernment, would they not leap from the ponds wherein they lay? What if the stars lost their way back to night’s shadow, are you not a passing comet, enlightening and enchanting?
What spool of troubles is not yours to be-still? What extension of your surrounding is not subjected to your will?
Your mere shadow calms the earth and your footprints become landmarks, where we mine for your essence even after you are long gone.
Your palms are a cradle where compassion is formed and your embrace is the promise of everything everlasting, yet to be born.
Your glimpse is a vessel from where rainbows spring and your laughter is the melodies to which the songbird sings.
Are you not a woman? Are you not strong? Tell me, dearest, if you are not a well of passions, a stream of pleasantries and a sea of …
I saw the strike of lightning with the fall of your lash. —-You’re an intriguing woman. potent in essence and character.
I heard the resounding thunder when you strut. I love how you hold your peace. It is your honorable tradition. You teach me resilience with your silence. —- How to become stronger than I was presumed to be. I learned from marveling at you, how to grace the path of my fears and honor the ones who doubted me, with crowns I carved from the allowances they allocated to my detriment.
I am yours to hold, even as you hold me accountable, be-knowingly, and forever, you are mine to treasure.
Thank you for paving for me, with the sweat of your strides, and the bruises from the barriers you’ve overcome, a path to trod and to discover my passions anew.
Thank you for not losing sight of the vision in which you remained steadfast. The gratification you’ve obtained from your endeavors is only the surface of the rewards it yield.
The mosaic of your endeavors are a horizon into which I gaze, with steadfast hope and humblest of heart, daring myself, to amount to a portion of that which you’ve attained.
Forever stumbling in your ever evading shadow, sometimes I forget that I am not designed to follow. —– Then comes tumbling, the waves of the ocean, stumbling into the ripples of the ones gone before them. On the contrary, not all shooting stars travel the same paths.
Continued poem
MisterPoet
Mr. Poet 