The Poetry of My Soul
If you ask me about the poetry of my soul.
I might tell you that, I don't know.
Or, I might give you an answer.
In both ways, I am very correct.
Because I might not know or have the right word to describe it.
But I know it exists.
Per se, let me describe it as "HER".
For she exists in the World via the word.
But, she is in the world.
She takes incarnate in every being.
And comes once in every being.
You may call her anything.
Or describe her the way you want.
But I know for sure.
She is in existence.
I envision and paint her as fair or light skin in a white and black background.
In her, I find BEAUTY.
A Beauty on her stance.
She has done wrong, but her wrong is a trait in every being.
With this, we can say, everyone is an Imperfect Being.
When I think about her, my imagination spurs.
My imagination is always imagined in the unimaginable.
For I can't paint the exact picture that I have imagined.
But the one I shall present to you is only an abstract.
Or, per se, a form in the mind of the Imperfect I.
She is perfect, she is the word built in the World.
I hunger for her always.
Because I know that if I meet her.
Her word in her World shall match the World in my word.
She is beyond the beauty that I see.
More glamorous in her Entity.
In her, I choose her.
In her, I choose life.
In her, I choose her Being.
In her, wait Nay.
@Cyrinmike.
The Beauty in the hands of BEAUTY.
A tool and a unique BEING.
For I know, she will COME.
But for now, I present the Abstract BEING.
The image that I have ENVISIONED.
Behold my Imagination in her ENTITY.
The Beauty of an Imperfect BEING.
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