no ones perfect but that doesn't mean you're not perfect for me

sadness is the bane of life, yet it tastes so bittersweet
it becomes addictive, leaving you feeling incomplete
so many dig for drama, only to be left sad and depressed.
but isn't that the point of all this attention gathering?

Writing a poem just to write one is silly

I could get lost in those eyes of yours
Shape-shifting and changing hue
One stare into those windows of a soul
No return to complacency would there be

A journey not yet started would never end
Getting lost in shades of oceanic blue,
sharper than the seas of old, breezing past on a foggy moore
Losing peripheral sense and sight in palettes of green
A green of forests and earth, so natural and undisturbed

The colors change and appear different in a different light
But somehow they remain the same: strong, independent, faithful, and wise
I could look into those wonderous eyes forever
Their beauty freezing me in my tracks

Though they may seem black and dark grey,
as thunderclouds on a rainy day,
I see radiance and a shine marked by a bright light glowing from within
It is almost unexplainable, a sparkle present everytime I look
A twinkle of passion and vivacity, unseen till you take a closer glance

Oh how I could get beautifully lost in those eyes of yours
A map and compass rendered useless in color changing landscapes
Depths unknown and feelings untold lie waiting to be explored
Oh how I could get lost forever in those eyes of yours

Oh God im so impatient
But I'll wait if that means we make it
Wait till the clock falls off the wall
Sit till the paint dries in the hall
I'll wait impatiently, oximoronically

Where is your sense of rhythm?
I can't seem to find your pattern
Oh time get it together
But I'll wait impatiently, relentlessly

Moods rising, moods falling
Calendar cycles churning
I said i loved you
You said you did too
And thats why I'll wait impatiently

Real love goes beyond the bounds of outward desire
It supersedes the limits of feeling, emotions, and compliance with the heart
It knows not of the wastelands of pain, crusted over with senses of false trust
And security built upon foundations of lust fall to the ground because it is not real love