The lines you have written,
Have spoken to me,
Telling me that the beauty in your soul,
Radiates with the light of one thousand suns,
All of the stars that sprinkle the night sky,
Could never even begin to compare,
To the brilliance of your shine.
With this hand, I write to you,
Pondering what words to use,
To speak to you.
How could my silly phrases possibly reach you,
When I lay upon the ground,
And you are stationed above the clouds?
Your words sing Utopian songs to me,
Racing ahead of the rest,
You dance with Beauty,
Yet you lie with Darkness,
You are the mistress to a poet,
A poet I once knew.
Higher rising you are,
On your wings made of gold,
‘Till you sit atop the Sun itself,
Finally letting it bask in your brilliance,
And shining through my darkness,
With your light.
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