I thought I should share something I did sometime back. Enjoy your Sunday and tag a loved one.
In deed am wist of the beauty abounding in her lucid brown eyes,
Yet she is like the rains that reign to raise levels of water to floods,
Floods so devastating yet when they die away a land so green they leave,
An angel so gracious she can be yet she still befits a demon’s description,
Every time she fights I get lost within the confines of her rage, a tigress she is,
When calm she calls for redemption as a new beauty takes effect on her.
She speaks in a mystic language, far too complex for my mind to flex
Its muscles to decode, starring deep when she is stirring a fire to burn this
Heart of mine, I fail to see the hell within her, instead I see a city of angels,
And that, through her wars and pain inflicting madness, brings me to this words,
She never looked nice, she looked like art. Art wasn’t supposed to look nice,
It was supposed to make you feel something, that something from me is love.
For I asked her to paint my love, instead she spilled the paint on the canvas,
Consumed by rage I started to saunter away but then her tears caused me to turn back,
Yes, she spilled the paint but the canvas didnt portray a disastrous piece,
Instead it was an abstract portrait rich with pulcher, So I smiled and ran back,
And in her ears I whispered, ‘your flaws make you beautiful.’