If i was a words smith,
I would paint her countenance a million smiles.
Each for every bliss unshared.
If i had a blessed hand at art,
I would describe her on canvas and walls.
The color magic of a dawn.
The enchantment of a crepuscular.
Pity I tell words in past tense
Lacking of essence.
Happy for an understated verb.
For a craft framed with love,
A gift to a naive heart;
Oblivious of compassion.
Its a whole world she opened,
Breathed of tender and care
An aura of heavenliness she was,
Like a goddess flawless of divine beauty.
Within and without
All to a nonbelieving soul.
An heart infatuated by vanity
Now time has given his final touch.
There she stands on a hallowed pedestal.
A souvenir in the walk of life.
A day outgone by its dusk.
Its twilight a merriment reminisce
My eyes on the silver linings of a darkened cloud.
Of a lost love story.