A Poem: She

She cries, and God is mistaken.

The high heavens surely must be jealous.
For angels, tried and true above the ugly of man,
to swallowed by the sphere of one living.
And to be so admired by the soldiers of righteousness.

She smiles, and the sun is put in shadow.

With beauty worthy of the azure sea itself.
Twin celestials shine, beacons of hope,
above the rivers of rose beneath the golden sky.
Surrounded in eternal perfection by the finest of God's coverings.

She looks, and death feels alive.

The creeping dark scatters under her piercing gaze.
Men feel their consciousness burned, spirits swirl with envy.
Angels of the highest graces rise and fall with her beating heart,
and time pauses to observe the passing of perfection.

She cares, and doubt removes itself.
She adores, and the righteous cry.
She loves, and one finds the perfection he sought,
here in the arms of the best of all things.

-M