sonnet1 on justruminating men's blog

A metaphor could never paint your scene–
They may show lilies in a valley deep
or how the ocean scrubs the shore so clean
as the children so close to mothers keep.
Scarcely with quill do I utter your name–
than die on paper, words then fade away
my pithy be damned it just seems the same
as all the love poems that have come our way.
Oh would that I could I might sell my soul–
to draw such splendor as I find in you
eternally damned but words made you whole
on straight to hell just to color your hue.
And as the heavens fill with stars tonight
my words I’ll write until dawn or first light.