Poetry

There is yet to like about a day, 
If it had pass by me, 
And I haven’t passed by you. 
There’s a person yet to miss 
When you have said hello. 
And then 
There’s just one person 
I have yet to say ‘You’re beautiful’, 
If I have not said it 
To you. 

I am but mere words to you, 
Book pages; How I wish 
I was like the Word of God, 
Moving you. 
Poems passed by you, drifting, 
I am hoping they had not fell off, 
But that they have reached you, 
As though a feather to the ear, 
A quick kiss
To the cheek. 

My life has ran out of words 
Such as I, love, and you, 
That I have to conserve them, 
And make use 
Of all the other words I know, 
Hence, this very mouthful, 
Amounting to ellipses. 

I am leaving old things behind, 
As I was leaving all things left to Him; 
Emptied, I am praying for you, 
Not to possess you, but that 
You may possess this hope I have- 
Love if you may call it. 
All of it: 
For you. 

And with all the beauty endowed upon you, 
Both tangible and not, 
Things perceived and are not, 
Imperfections that are there 
Yet to fall for, 
Are few of the many reasons 
Why the least of your very time 
Spent 
With this clumsy commoner 
Renders him to seek his first love 
Again and again, under this night sky 
Of which 
You are also under. 

And so I write, spontaneously, 
For the poetry that your heart is- 
Ever-beautiful; and yet 
I have not witnessed your love move 
In a personal matter. 
But the heart is at its prettiest 
When it is beating…for God. 
Now don’t be surprised 
If a man has surely prayed…
…for a single throb from it. 
Don’t be surprised with a love poem. 

Poetry… 
…is best read before you…
…everyday.

© 2012 J.S.P.