"sightliness" poems
Solitary, lonely and sad
Oh, how you resemble the moon
Flawed and imperfect
With all the craters and the holes
But like the moon
Many would go to great heights
To see your beauty
A sightliness worth every step
Like the dear moon we see
You are blemished
And like the moon, my sweet lover
You shine in times of darkness
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
*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
Your beauteous archetype will never let you suffer the pain that most of us regular people face. Despite your rudeness, we will always make excuses to partake In your cuteness. You don't know how it feel to be forgotten about. Your heart never fell, in result of seeing someone who bailed holding hands with a more sightliness female. You have everyone's attention. How does pretty feel when pain is inflicted? Does pretty really hurt all along, or is that just a song? I'm venting through this poem because I can only imagine you being in my arms. The reality of you laying in my chest happily is slim to none. My confidence in myself is strong, but that only go as far as grabbing you by the arm, signaling you to come on. Utterances of "he's not where you belong". My aplomb is only dawn in comparison to his bodacious mannerism. You can't see anything wrong. But I can see it within you. Whenever I spy deeply, past your aesthetic definitive. As I forage through your lushness I stumble upon the truth. The naked truth. Fastuousness at it's best. Desolateness at it's worst. Blessed but hurt. A nest without a bird, a freeway without a curve, an intoxication without a slur, a feline with no reason to purr, a sea otter without it's fur; basically a sentence without a word. Bleak; you worship the worthless, bargain yourself to be purchased so in result you are the first resort to a man with no purpose. How does it feel to be a self-merchant? Wholesale and your clientele being boys who are uncertain. If you were interested in men he will treat you like one with the womb in the front (womb-men), no matter how feral you were you'll b like his little ****** See you are the resultant of a posture that is too potent. When you're in motion, no guy can continue with focus. You were always told how bold that you looked without any clothes, but never reminded that your mind was the only thing you have left when everything else unfold. Hopeless; desirable but the story on how to be hereafter admirable was untold. "No matter how fine the statue is, overtime it will have to erode, it's the significance in the chronicle that we will always extoll"
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:53 PM UTC