The physicality of beauty has failed me, and so in desperation I pled; Oh Lord, Oh God, at least give me this!
My folly, not his. I proved to be mute (my prayers unheard). For though I prayed wholeheartedly, the union of pen and paper proclaimed loudly it's unholiness.
Condemned to be an observer unable to make sensible the raging winds of words in my brain. Incapable of sculpting the clay of my thoughts into a form of any recognizable sort.
Albeit He is merciful, and with wide eyes and wide ears I soak up spectrums of magnificence,
Daring not to wish my flesh might be coloured the vibrant hues I absorb.