I'm writing you a poem,
not to boast of my eloquence
but because your very existence has given me a lifetime of inspiration.
You are not a mere muse,
but you are every word spoken softly,
gently.
In my ear.
But if spoken loud enough everyone would hear.
So I will speak for you.
I will say it in a room that echos
so it can be heard again and again
until the words return to their original form,
a whisper.
You beautiful creature.
You beautiful boy.
I saw the honesty in your eyes.
Like I heard your whispers.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
I'm writing you a poem,
not to boast of my eloquence
but because your very existence has given me a lifetime of inspiration.
You are not a mere muse,
but you are every word spoken softly,
gently.
In my ear.
But if spoken loud enough everyone would hear.
So I will speak for you.
I will say it in a room that echos
so it can be heard again and again
until the words return to their original form,
a whisper.
You beautiful creature.
You beautiful boy.
I saw the honesty in your eyes.
Like I heard your whispers.
I cannot create anything worthy of you.
But I'll do my best to translate the serendipity that is your soul.
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