The Creation of BeautyMature

The room once quiet,

Seems to instantly go on a vocal diet,

The dancing once misplaced,

Seems to instantly follow pace.


The angel walks in with grace,

The radiant light streams from her face,

Like two athletes in a race,

She seems to increase her pace.


The closer I draw to her,

She seems to be far,

I try to speak,

My brain is being meek.


My words once dainty,

Come out ever so faintly,

My skips beats,

And I walk in beat.


I offer my hand,

She takes the offer,

Velvet ever so soft is her hand,

I walk slowly hoping not to double over.


The floor seems so long,

Her beauty is making me long…

Long for the moment,

When she will make the fatal comment.


Her lips just like her dress are a deep red,

It’s only a fact that my heart is in deep dread,

I utter two words,

And her images of her smile my vision floods.


Our eyes meet, and for a second there is a flash,

I feel it , that warm, comforting rush,

She looks up and I see an ocean,

This beauty gives me a memory of creation.



The End

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