I sit here waiting for a perfect springtime bloom
As the seasons ebb and flow your illusive light teases at the heart of my darkness
A faint memory of your infinite joy seduces the edges of my consciousness
Thoughts of unearthing your heavenly being consume me
And yet I cannot find you…..
What illusive perfection is this that cannot be fathomed?
Can the crude shadow I project on the wall of my reality truly capture your essence?
Do I presume too greatly in defining your spritely beauty?
Were you abloom in my presence
Would I be so crass and assuming as to be oblivious to your transcendence
Or Confine you instead as a nameless barbed rose
to be scorned, maligned and robbed of your air of sweetness
Flaunted in your beauty to appease my vanity
then forgotten like an inconvenient fantasy
which quickly fades like many a ripple on a moonlit pond
these ghosts of imperfection that haunt me cast an eerie reflection
a watery distortion in which my visage stares back at me through your eyes
