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In surrendering,  
Light breaks through the shadowed veil,  
Victory in grace.
Your countenance is radiant,  
like morning light weaving through trees,  
soft whispers of breeze dancing on leaves,  
the gentle sway of petals in bloom.  

You walk upon the earth  
as if it were woven from dreams,  
each step a brushstroke,  
each glance a melody,  
echoing in the hearts of those who meet you.  

Time halts in your presence,  
clouds pause to listen,  
birds abandon their nests,  
captivated by the calm in your stride.  

Laughter spills from your lips,  
a cascade of silver sunlight,  
filling the air with warmth,  
wrapping the weary in a hug of joy.  

You turn awkward moments into art,  
always possessing a Godgiven grace,  
as though the Lord's joy beams from
your face.  

In the quiet of twilight,  
your essence lingers,  
a gentle reminder  
that beauty is found  
in the way you simply are.
I can really only write if inspired. This person is extremely inspirational. The "muse" has moved me. Much love, folks. I hope you're all hanging in there.
Your smile brightens the room,  
like morning light spilling  
through open windows,  
chasing shadows into corners.  

It weaves warmth  
into the fabric of the day,  
each laugh a gentle ripple,  
softening edges of worry.  

In that glow,  
the world feels smaller,  
and hope sways  
like a flower dancing in the breeze.
Yeah, I finally got this idea written in a relatively decent way. If you saw the person who's beauty inspired this, it would be clearly evident that this poem is drastically inadequate. I'll keep working on it to try and get it better. I'm confident I can. This person's beauty (inner and outward) just strikes me every time I see her. Sorta strikes me dumb. Type of person everyone is always happy to be around. A relatively rare type of person. A blessing. Just cool, in virtually every way. Crimeny, that almost sounds like Marry Poppins. I'm sure you've probably met at least one person like this.
soft
candle's
glance
on
amber
rings

the
moist
temple
where
­blon­d
hair
clings

dark
whiskey
eyes
under
chandelier's
swings

t­he
­single
note
where
a
cello
sings

i
stop
and
contemplate
these
­th­ings

unlike
puppets
we
had
no
strings

no
we
had
golden
nighte­n­gale

wings


soulsurvivor aka
write of passage aka
invisible inc
(C) 8/32/2015


a poem about my first love

i still think about him
from time to time
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