Austin Glover

Dark waters won’t subdue her reflection,
Smudged mirrors cannot deny her image,
Blind views, she shines through with perfection,
As heart and figure need not to scrimmage.
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Beauty defines itself like such great art,
All eyes drawn to its composure and grace,
A sculpture or painting so pure of heart,
Almost eases the time I long for your face.
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Changed, is meaning of these letters I speak,
As you and I spend less moments apart.
Though, closer we come with each passing week,
A spirit so full, now filling my heart.
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Would you step of the
Back of my shoe, if I told you,
I’d stay forever?
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My grip is weak,
I am forever sliding,
Into this hole of meek,
My thoughts are gliding,
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Autumn changing,
Hearts arranging,
Placid colors,
Ever fading.
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The air is tense,
Screaming’s dense,
In this void, desolate,
Sense of mind.
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Defiance and hope,
You wish to rebel?
Grab hold of this rope,
Whatever you say,
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A while its been, I’m afraid that’s true,
The sky remains grey, the air bleeds with monotones,
To my ringing ears that I trudge with each morn.
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As a poet, my writing comes and goes,
Sometimes it’s scrambled, and sometimes it flows,
My inspiration lacks, while I relax,
In this repetitive place I know.
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Of you, I envy every aspect,
As each moment I long for your presence,
That enticing smile, those beautiful eyes,
Oh, how you can finish my sentence.
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Can you feel the sway in the atmosphere?
As you and I spend together this year,
Gazing into a universe broad,
Ever evolving our love, my dear.
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He suddenly woke to the breath of an angel,
Lingering close, warming his skin,
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Before said words, came the notion,
From her eyes, a poetic devotion,
To a timid boy, with love sky-bound,
He’d whisper through ink, keeping her sound.
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The night wears on my ever weary eyes,
Tempting their close, forever lost in lovers dreams,
Where melded souls share their holistic cries,
Of the unity in their love it seems.
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Upon first glance I’m drawn to your beauty,
As my own outlines are sketched in anew,
Shading empty gaps left from pure cruelty,
brush in hand, what else am i to do?
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Fixed beating, a comfort upon silence,
On and on, as the second hand goes,
Whose hunger resides in the cold air tense,
The ticking pulse which never slows.
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Gracefully they dance on great mountains height,
With distant stretched beauty and pure loomed glow,
Compact together yet parted with fright,
Afraid of who’s insides first come to show.
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