When the Sun its Self Could Not

Sometimes when I feel like all the beauty in the world is gone,

When I think there is no good left in the world,

When I have been so blinded by the grimness of it all,

I close my eyes

and there you are.

Permeating darkness when the sun its self could not.

I see you like the women I used to see in paintings as a child,

Seeing feminine beauty for the first time,

Spread across some canvas by someone I never met,

Years before I was born,

Showing the world a woman the way he saw her on that day,

A woman I will never meet except in this form

A painting of a beautiful but nameless woman,

Details of who she might of been, where she might have lived, who she loved what her life was like,

All lost to me.

I can only look into her eyes and guess.

Sometimes I would make up my own stories for them,

Sometimes I would just look,

The way you look upon a blooming flower,

Filled with awe and wonder,

Void of thought as the woman's beauty could wash over you in waves,

Yet remain motionless on the wall,

Never in my mind though,

Always moving,dancing, walking, laughing, crying...living

I have never seen a still life,

Sounds like death,

Even if the woman in front of me was dead, she'll live a thousand lives on this wall,

Beautiful for eons. Time stands still for her so she'll never have to,

Given a new life for every pair of eyes that reach her....a new story for every imagination she is born into,

Then she will be carried away to live as a memory a beautiful and unique one for each soul she reaches,

But I think I understand now better than as a child how the painter looked at the woman on the wall,

I think when he felt there was no beauty left in the world, that all the good is gone and even the sun can't permeate the grimness of it all,

He probably thought of her and she lit a world for him that the sun its self could not,

And so you are the woman in my painting, I can think of no more perfect a woman to be on that wall,

But I am no painter.....

Words are all I have but when it's truth I have the perfect words,

I can wield them to paint a picture as beautiful as any painting,

And when I write about you it's always truth

And though I can't show you the beautiful colors and perfect curves, long hair and soft lips by way of the eyes,

I can give you eternal life in the imagination of any who read your painting

And if they look very closely at each brush stroke they can see my words,

The words of a man who couldn't paint but knew when he saw someone so beautiful they HAD to be.

So I will find you the perfect painter to paint you,

There is no need for world fame just talent and the understanding of my words,

I will write a thousand poems and have them tell me what they see

One of them will describe you to me and that will be your painter

I will choose the finest canvas,

I will scour the earth until I find the one who waits to hold you and no one else,

I will find the perfect brushes, the perfect paints, the perfect easel, the perfect pallet, the perfect studio,

I will arrange it all perfectly like a conductor before a symphony,

But you I will not touch, I will not change,

I will not pick a fancy dress for none could do you justice,

I will not tell you how to do your hair or do your make up or even make you do any at all,

I will not alter you in anyway because in my eyes you could never look any more or less beautiful,

Yes this is how a painter must see the women they paint.

I will sit and speak to the artist each letter will become a color each word a stroke of the brush,

I will speak of your kindness, your wisdom, your compassion, your intelligence, your drive, your softness,

I will tell of how I always looked into your eyes as long as I could get away with when we spoke,

I always thought you held beautiful secrets in them, I could see them swirling in those pools but never letting on to their mystery,

I will tell of how smart you are, how back in school when I passed you by I could always tell you were thinking on something,

I will tell of how often almost got brave enough to ask you what you were thinking of,

But instead said nothing, silently stole a glance and made up my own story to the feminine beauty I had just seen,

Always knowing whatever the truth was would be far more beautiful than anything I could make up,

I will tell the painter how I know I'll never see a woman so beautiful in any movie or read about in any story,

Because only the universe can create a woman like that,

Even the perfect words with the perfect artist , the perfect canvas, the perfect painting,

Is only a shadow of the subject

But your shadow outshines the brightest star in this writers eyes.

I will hang your painting in the perfect spot.....where the light hits it just right,

And of all the women on that wall and any surrounding you....your painting will be different for at least one writer,

For him it will be magical, for him there will be no painting past or present that can equal it's beauty.

I'll buy a bench to have set in front but out of the way so others can enjoy too,

And when the whole world seems like the beauty is gone and there's no good left at all and even the sun can't permeate the grimness of it all. 

I'll go sit on that bench and write as your image brings light into a world that the sun its self could not.