I like to stare listlessly
At the night sky for long
Durations of time, as if my
Gaze will compel the stars
To align to breathtaking ends.
Alas, they stay put budge, they
Don’t, a sneer streaks my
Face as my pride’s hurt.
And a tear droplet materializes
On the corner of my eye.
Maybe the moon prefers her
Star friends to remain as they’re.
Kindness is niceness perched
On the pedestal of goodness.
An ever burbling fountain of
Warmth, feeling and empathy
A white thorn less rose of purity
And good intention, rarer than
Hen’s teeth and it does scythe
Through the ice of insensitivity
With a precision that’s unmatched.
There’s a kind of beauty that’s purified and distilled
To fit squarely in the most rarefied
Of circles, given form and molded
Into an image of awe worth being storied.
Fleshed out, pieced delicately
Sculpted exquisitely and a sunny
Complexion mixed with a chocolaty
Hue splashed, oozing acute aristocracy.
Ingrid embodies this angelic likeness
That’s pure and unblemished, spotless
Inspiring reverence and a tendency to impress.
Demure she is her heart ensconced in a fortress.
Her smile lights the heavens aglow
Her demeanor barely spotting a flaw.
Sometimes it creeps surreptitiously
In between inhalations and exhalations
And at times in the form of
Long deep sighs.
I am mostly indebted to it
The specific times it chooses
To out of its own accord
Gather itself up piece by piece
Into a word that can be mouthed
That is “thank you”.