You muse.

Amusingly unexpected how you do.

I see paints in your colors.

I hear Chopin in your laughter.

I am poetically inspired by your existence.

So much beauty in one being.

I could not have fathomed I’d be seeing

All that you are and can become.

Nor could you know that I’d be the lucky one.

Your pain holds beauty still.

Though you may not believe it is so.

I see rain in your tears,

Watering the ground so you’ll grow.

Your shattered heart,

Pieced back together with gold.


Another piece in your art show.

How can a muse not know that they are,

And pass through existence with no clue

That they are beautiful by far?

Yet if you knew then you’d not be you.

You muse.

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