How can a selection of words stand worthy of this task?
For even if words spoken so sweetly, even vaguely formed the image of you, they would not scratch the surface of your true wonder.
What is in a word that it might have the privilege of describing perfection?
Should it not then be honoured as it's name, chosen above all others, speaks of beauty beyond?
Yet words are my hands washed clean by truth, yet bound by the constraints of my mind.
And so with these words, a new language is born, not from that of this world, but from the voice of my hearts womb.
A battle rages for the words I cannot find and why do the words I know run from me? Afraid to be spoken?
Yet I know they have tried and failed many a time, lost their hope, for this cause they cannot find.
The words I long for are not forgotten nor do they exist... they are promised a future and destined to be mine.
These words are not yet formed and so I wait to give birth to their splendour
For when they accept their thrones and honour their duty...
They shall be known as the words that described true beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.