Blargh

Gibberish is bliss
Nonsense expresses the heart
Words will not suffice

Glimpse, so quick

Look at her go,
Her hair floats by
And I caress the air from which she lept
And I do not care if she is not there
For I already know that I won't be able to catch up
So I will relish the void in the shape of her
As if it were a shadow of a being long gone
And I almost feel that she is there as I waver
In that empty pool, but a pool nonetheless,
Of her beauteous person, no longer is but will always remain
To be a remnant of her
A portrait, but I cannot see it,
It's merely the frame with her essence in it,
For I cannot paint something on the canvas,
Because it would be blasphemy to mock such beauty.
Even the ideal cannot propose a perfection so vast,
Only God could have formed from dust such a creation
Of grace and splendor, in His divine image,
A reflection of Him, though tattered the mirror may be,
He wipes clean and purifies to shine His shining,
And that is what I see through that face,
As it floats on by before my own,
Her modesty frames the face that shines
A beauty not of hers alone,
And her body is kept as a holy reverence
So that all see Him through her face alone,
That all she does is done by Him, through Him, for Him,
And I stand amazed at such grace
And I cannot keep myself from quivering
For I keep looking as she walks on by,
Wondering if maybe, perhaps, by chance,
She turns around, her hair tossed back,
Her eyes lock with mine
What will she see when she looks at me -
A mirror reflecting me and myself,
Or the image of Him shining back through mine eyes?

Her, who is

Her voice:
So distinct and so familiar
I feel at ease when I hear it
Yet I feel like my heart will burst when I hear it
The way she says one word,
The way she moves when she says that word,
Recalling it in my mind is not enough,
For it is only a mockery of the true beauty,
Idolatry at its finest pathetic nature.

How I want to arise to that voice every morning,
Just a mere whisper would suffice
In the middle of a dark wood,
The forest shadows wavering to and fro,
The darkest dark of the darkest night
Could not compete with her jovial glow.

So authentic, so genuine,
Superficiality is not in her vocabulary,
Who she is today is who she is tomorrow,
And I can hold her to her word.

She does not feel the need to change
The way she acts, the way she talks,
She can be herself, her beautiful self,
In any interaction, with any person.
She understands reverence, she understands humility,
But she will not feign kindness and a likable personality
Just to appease the masses.

Her virtues hold when all fall away.
A woman can fake a personality, and many have to me,
And I have almost dared to say that there is none who is not fake.
But her today is her tomorrow, her night is her day,
Her lowest of lows is her highest of highs,
And God is her center of being.

I value her above the world,
For how hard is it to find one like her?
I want to hold her tight, in my arms
And none will hurt her, none will take her away.
How majestic will it be,
How honorable will it be,
For she deserves to be pursued with all honor and virtue,
For she is not of the common pedestrian,
She is more.

I will climb the highest heights, I truly will
I will dive the deepest depths, I truly will
I will die ten times over before I will let anything happen to her
And I will protect her from the lies of this world,
The lies that tell her how to act, how to speak, how to live,
What is beautiful, what is pretty, what will get her far in life.
I will tell her what I see.

The inside, not the outside,
The virtue, not the personality,
The brokenness, not the false perfection,
The authenticity, not the superficiality,
The clinging to Christ, not the clinging to the world,
In this world but not of it,
She is my love.

That Proverbs 31 girl. How must I pursue you?