True Love

For my love

I wonder if I could paint your portrait

Not using oils or acrylics

But with words.

Rendering your form in vowels and consonants

Shaping you from syllables and parts of speech.

Then you'd be in a medium that I understand.

Not only visible to the eye, 

But to the heart as well.

You wouldn't need to sit before me,

For I already know you

Front and back,

Inside and out

More than what's needed

To describe your features.

I know your soul.

Reviews

[RainQueen]

This is absolutely lovely. Even though you didn't paint that word-portrait, you painted a picture of love.

What a beautiful way to describe the way our ink itches to immortalize the ones we love in the way that makes sense to us.

Beautiful write~

[Orlando Murcia]

Absolutely wonderful :)

[Jeremy Baker]

I love this! What a prefect expression of language as art. This flows so neatly and develops its own pace as it reaches its conclusion. Brilliant writing!

[Jo]

this one gave me chills--this one speaks so much to us as writers. the spaces in between us--we try and fill with words and thus become words. i love this one so much. thank you for sharing.

[DelicateSymphony]

I really like this poem because it creates depth that the mind can plunge down into like a cannonball in a pool, breaking the water and surrounding oneself with all of its creativity. You show that you can understand a person better through the medium of words and through that it shows the true depth of this piece. :)

[SilentVerses]

Beautiful, elegant grace spills from the words you so desire to see, understanding entwines through the sentences as your words twist to try and form the face whose reality you cannot understand, simple and short a beautiful sorrow tries to battle the confusion of physical beings, as it is only the words that spill from your bones who lend you a truth nothing else can touch. Where there is beauty your words dance and play to show you the hidden depths, reflected in the mirror of this poem for all to see are your own depths, short but sweet a timid flow of hope and passion is etched into the page, wonderful.