deepundergroundpoetry.com

ethos

the sun has nothing on his grace
see he can be felt for days
he even exists within shadows
where faint light trails whisper upon faces
they stare, and she catches their glances
bouncing off her eyelashes, they see � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � � �
but she wonders do they ever really perceive, his magnitude
they struggle to believe, he is, hot plasma fueled by logic
his vision is immense and their ears listen
but she knows that they never truly grasp, his depth
rationally he is absolutely to beautiful too define
words would sound like misconstrued conversation
sentences that have lost all sense of format
see they label him intelligent, say that he thinks outside of the box
that he sees the world from every angle, and comprehends position
he is well read, well versed, and yet he rarely ever speaks
his tongue holds a monumental amount of mystery
but shes learned him, studied him for years
understands that even though his eyes never weep
his soul holds the weight of accumulated tears
and she hears him when he manifests riddles in his speech
knows that even though he seems confusing
he is a �volcano of simplicity, differently, molding into formation
a manifestation of all things small accumulating
like the calligraphy of gods whispering infinitely
an unpredictable amount of searching aspirations
he is the nonphysical feeling of emotions
the intrinsic existence of symbolization
to vast to understand, to rare to comprehend
and so, quietly, he hides within the shadows
where his presence can be felt for days
see truth be told, the sun, the sun has nothing on his grace