"balminess" poems
*I have sought answers to the query what makes a person perfectly sightly, yet have not I found it.
Is it in the curl of his hair, or the warmth in her stare?
The touch of her skin as she lays bare?
Or is it in the hue of his eyes - deep sea blue? Or the beating of her heart, as if on cue?
Is it in the lines of his jaw, or that perfectly white teeth? The blush on her cheeks or the rise of her chest as she breathes?
I know not if it is in the grace of her gait, nor if it is her weight. Or his broad shoulders or the size of his feet.
Is it in the lobes of his ear? Or her view in rear? Is it in the curves of her waist, or his abdomenals like hills? The complexion of his arms? Or her hug that warms?
Is beauty in the arch of her back or the contour of her ******* Or his suit and tie and his Sunday's best?
Does it have anything to do with the fragrance he wears - warm and woody? Or is it in her pair of sneakers and a hoodie?
Can it be found in the protrusion of her clavicles or the density of his brows? Or in the depth of his voice? The color of her toes?
Is it in the ball that he plays or the gentleness of her face? Ah! How can someone be so angelic in demeanor?
It isn't clear to me if splendor in countenance can really be found. Should not it rather be felt? Or should it be perceived through sight?
One is beautiful because people say she is. But beauty could be forfeited at the thought of the beholder that she isn't.
Does one tell himself that he is as Adonis in loveliness when he looks in the mirror? Or does he say he is like Hephaestus in visage?
Is beauty defined in the standard: dark hair, appealing stare;
aligned teeth, sharp nose;
tan skin, shaved brows;
waxed legs, hefty breast;
mild touch, sweet caress;
cheeks sans freckles, six feet tall;
flamboyant voice, and foxy lips?
What about molls and vagrant rips?
To say one is grotesque - is not it just in your perspective? And to say one is gorgeous - what is your basis?
Is it her beautiful locks? --but she is a ****
Or the emerald windows of his soul? --but he is a criminal--
Does beauty still nest on them?
I say the efficacy to arouse fascination is not found in the facade of a person, rather found somewhere more profound.
To put beauty in the way that it is in the eyes of the beholder is quite narcissistic, but let people fancy you not for the sightliness of your face, but the goodness of your soul, though it is heir to sin; the mercy in your eyes, not its color; the care in your touch, not its balminess. Because the only thing that is undying and immortal is not your cast but the heart.*
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 7:14 AM UTC
its the fear of being understood,
that welcomes dread.
its the shadows of doubt,
that fuels the inevitable regret,
which burns away of what could be.
flames that scorch,
instead of balminess.
until it becomes futile,
of being fully realized,
with a whole 'nother.
Aug 1, 2021
Aug 1, 2021 at 10:05 AM UTC
And with just one little word, or was it a few?
Warmth and balminess became ice & wisps of cold.
Laughs became little sobs; gasping for air for all the wrong reasons.
A
home
does
not
seem
quite
*like
it.*
It feels like unravelled ribbons.
Painted grey & blue hearts.
Tears on dinner plates.
Cold tea staining raw, chapped lips.
Your breaths merely touching your bare ribcage.
Empty, emptiness simply seep into your veins,
the spaces in your skin, then the ones in your heart
and
in the
very words
you
speak.
I cannot close
my
tired, tired
lids
over
it.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 6:18 AM UTC
I want to experience winter in its most beautiful phase,
I want to feel the coldness that it brings,
But of course, I cannot stand the bite of every icy snow,
Then I realized I want to spend it with you,
Where the warmth of your hands will equally fit with every chill.
Where your arms will lock me with so much balminess that I don’t even have to say a thing.
You will fill me with kisses that I usually want.
You will never let go of my hand.
You and me and the winter, will bind as one.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
In the dim, I fumble for a spark
A fleck, a flame
But there is no light as luminous
Not here
Fondly, I relive the glower of orange
The flash of gorgeous, burning whites
The balminess as I am against it
If only you could see my smile in the dull of this haze
As I warm myself with these thoughts
Distant is your bellicose light
The light I left burning
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
092822
You become like the Sun —
Everyone stirs up to the heartfelt rays
And the sparkling light that It conveys.
They are indebted for Its existence.
But the sun doesn't try to draw attention to Itself.
It just appears in the morning —
Giving Its warmth and light inaudibly but graciously,
And sets Its time bomb by the evening.
Then It appears the succeeding day.
Everyone goes to bed –
Always looking forward to Its reappearance.
And they are frantic every single day.
You are a light in Christ Jesus –
You have been placed in the center of the room
And on top of the hill.
Don't you use that divine position
To show off your sheen,
Or entice any attention to yourself
So people can see how bright a light you are,
Or so you can intimidate them with your glow.
Instead, let ALL your vigor appears naturally
As you come back tomorrow with no other agenda –
Except to luster for someone’s road.
Giving off that deific balminess
And sunlit to the whole world – and all creations.
Be their warmth, then call it a day.
And you’ll be glad to rest in your sleep.
As long as you remain God-centred –
Allowing Him to spring His Nature through you
Without any selfish interest as the Sun does,
Then your life is full, firm, and accomplished each day.
Nov 24, 2022
Nov 24, 2022 at 8:11 PM UTC