- Books, Literature, and Writing»
- Poems & Poetry
She is...a poem
By Tony DeLorger © 2013
She glided in elegance, the lines of her body
like the gentle lapping of rippled water,
always moving in perfect symmetry,
an effortless, natural being.
Her face an angel of compassion,
he expression a knowing so complete,
that understanding exuded in radiations,
like a warm serene sunset.
What thoughts she held within this majesty,
could hardly be imagined,
yet one knew they were pure,
a mind incapable of impropriety or malice.
Is she human, this beauty of deliverance,
or perhaps my minds fantasy of perfection,
or is she nature's perfect step, some miracle of creation,
or is she a reflection of a desperate mind.
She finally came to rest,
her dress ever so slowly swaying back and forth,
until the hem submitted to her stillness and found place above her knees,
as if glad to be apart of her.
She looked around at the faces drawn to her,
and smiled; the room suddenly filled with the glory of sunrise,
her warm affection like a sedative to an open heart,
and the room fell quiet, in homage to the beauty of silence.
She is, I thought, an angel,
far from home, lowered to the base hues of humanity,
and she, without reservation, loving just the same,
opening her wings in acceptance.
What possible cause could bring this creature here,
her perfection in such contrast to the scrambled thoughts of human minds,
and I, lost for words, saw her and felt lowly,
lost within my humanity and the possibilities I had not embraced.
Her physical beauty hit me hard,
her skin bronzed and supple, her breasts plump and perfect,
her shapely curves in perfect proportion,
and her face innocent yet knowing.
She took my breath away, and my heart raced,
feeling the strongest urge to be with her,
to touch the untouchable and to explore her every secret,
the sacred and luscious sanctum that is woman.
Then, she looked at me, right through me,
as if I were glass, my soul bared to the world,
and in that moment my desires subsided, my mind stilled,
and her kindness enveloped me, completely.
She is, I thought, as she walked slowly toward me,
and my heart raced once more,
until she stopped against me and place her finger over my mouth,
so not to speak.
Then she held me, her arms like golden warmth,
and tears began to well in my eyes,
her kindness so overwhelming, I could not move,
only stand there in acceptance.
She is all that I hoped,
and I so coarse in contrast, felt a pang of guilt,
for the privileged of this experience,
and I began to sob, like a baby.
Her embrace seemed even more complete,
and the swell of my emotions unrelenting,
feeling the hurts and wrongs of past dissipating,
like steam rising from my body, and disappearing.
This purge, this catharsis took me whole,
sent my consciousness to rest while it remedied me,
and she, the mistress of my resurrection,
held me tightly, earnestly and with pure compassion.
When tears finally subsided and I opened my eyes,
the darkness confused me.
I realized I was alone in my bed.
What is reality and what is dream is sometimes difficult to decipher, and in that it is best to take the gift it offers without judging it real or not. In the end it is we who accept reality to be or not, therefore changing our perspective.