The Standard Measure 18 Jan. 1999 Her face lingers in my dreams Eyes piercing my soul as no one before. Questions in her heart seeking access to my mind. Never hesitating to face the truth perpetually pushing, striving, clawing, to higher ground, she stirs. I question my ability to pacify her desire she smiles and says, whatever. Head held high and eyes shining bright she travels where few men dare follow Measured against no standard She is the standard measure. Boundaries are only recommendations for her light shines unobstructed and true, reflections of Heaven. Oh to be held, in her arms more captive than a thousand armies close to her heart, nearer to her soul. Lips have never been painted more lovely nor sculpted so full by mere mortal man for no mere man could justice do the face of an angel who's wings shield me from the hideous of night or who's peace in purity could battle hordes of lying brutes. Her heart endured pain beyond what should be expected before I was a glimmer in her eye, for which I feel sad that she stood alone, silent and strong. Her darkest hour was something I did not share and cannot know because words are only words and tears are just tears, except here. Here was a brother and son gone but never forgotten, loved for a lifetime and on. Still alive in her heart 'cause memories are reality in rewind, with laughs, cries, hopes, and fears.
Reason for writing:
A special friend in my life. this is an working poem, i'm not quite satisfied with it, so there may be future editions to follow.
Birth sign: Not entered
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