The pencil on the table,
Your face is in my mind,
It makes me feel dread inside,
Flourishing images scarred within,
Yet the pencil is silent,
Shunning the paper to pencil feel,
The real picture is inside.

Petrifying memories deceive minds,
Yet so clear, up to perfection,
The only dream I had,
Was an image of you,
Others meant nothing,
Wind separated piece by piece,
This dream, made me real,
Waking the poet inside

This image scarred in my mind,
Revealing the dread inside,
Gave birth to the purist,
Made the brightest star grow dim,
This page is blank,
yet in my mind is full,
Of a portrait of you,
Wonders of sorrow,
Outline of purity.

Colors swiftly twine around your soul,
My heart imagining what life would be,
Without you,
These days made me feel so real,
The storm that lay above me,
Died when I speak to you,
This is what I feel,
When I’m with you.

Yet life itself is so deceiving,
You make it shine so bright,
Trembling at the knees,
Tremors within my head,
Yet this image so pure,
I realize now,
This image lies within my heart,
Displaying the affection between us,
I love you.