UNSPOKEN

Late, she came that morning,
And next to him she sat,
Towards him she was leaning,
Her perfume he could scent,
His heart blended a feeling,
That he could never forget.
She spoke to him so little,
A sweet voice, a gentle fiddle,
That made his heart twiddle,
As a dance or a romantic riddle.
He had to keep it for himself,
Unfold like a book on a shelf,
-Eagerly, lustfully written,
  Secretly, silently hidden-
He went further to dream,
A non-sense fictional stream,
Imagining what would seem,
Like a fancy illusion to deem,
His fate of having her for real,
But soon all of that would steal,
His attention to notice a gleam,
Of vivacious sun rays that beam,
Her skin light as a glittering cream,
With pink sublime shaped lips,
So elegant, heavenly made ideal,
To which his wicked desires kneel.
For every artful kiss on the cheek,
Went a feeling sensual and deep,
Till their eyes were meant to meet,
Exposing what he thought in secrete,
"Alas! a fool I am to conceive,
Such beauty into such conceit,
It shall never happen."
Cowardly, he said inbetween,
Fake glances of his childish deceit,
In a futile trial to hide and conceal,
What he thought to be absurd conceit,
That could be a fairytale so sweet,
She felt the same, he never knew.
A secret tale by a heartbeat,
He kept it untold; unspoken,
Between the lines forgotten,
Thus it is, a fairytale incomplete.


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Inspiration hath spoken to me, in my loner nights dreamless nights of woe,
"thou shalt write this, take it as thine next poem, the next about her in row!
Thou shalt take it easy, her sublime beauty, thy cause of awe".
Make it thus as a masterpiece of beauty, a reflection of her countenance for which my wicked desires bow.

Her eyes begged me, her lips thrived me, that smile made it all come slow,
To a pen and a piece of paper here I am to share and show,
How deemed my soul is with affection and inspiration she overthrew,
Whelming my feelings, as another string, many strings tied to her bow.*


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