You're sometimes hard to read
like a book torn at the seams.
But you aren't flawed, by any means;
your elegance echoes in my dreams.
You're a little hard to figure out,
like a puzzle with pieces scattered about.
But when pieced together your image is clear,
like a summer's day;
warm, sincere.
Like an ancient text, you're hard to define.
But the meaning within is simply divine.
You leave me with a feeling sublime.
You'll never be forgotten in time.
Like an ingenious form of philosophy,
you are so much more than what you seem.
You are the words that I longingly read
in a cursive memory.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 3:12 PM UTC
You're sometimes hard to read
like a book torn at the seams.
But you aren't flawed, by any means;
your elegance echoes in my dreams.
You're a little hard to figure out,
like a puzzle with pieces scattered about.
But when pieced together your image is clear,
like a summer's day;
warm, sincere.
Like an ancient text, you're hard to define.
But the meaning within is simply divine.
You leave me with a feeling sublime.
You'll never be forgotten in time.
Like an ingenious form of philosophy,
you are so much more than what you seem.
You are the words that I longingly read
in a cursive memory.
Request permission to use this poem