Confession of a Lover Spurned

Beauty isn't what we see, but what we are and what we be,
It's what we feel, when feeling's free,
And what we know, both you and me.
I want to know who can define, the beauty that is most sublime,
Without doubt can judge with rhyme,
Whether you are not, or fine.
For Beauty is much more to me, than what we are or what we see,
It's what's beneath those intense brown eyes,
or what's behind your rare, sweet smile,
Took me in, with default guile, unsuspecting all the while,
Enchanted sure, that soft, true smile.
But more, than just appearance caught,
My gaze, attention and my thought
Over you my thoughts have fought, and what it is you want.
But in the end, it always seems,
those deep brown eyes will haunt my dreams,
staring, wishing, feeling, smile, all my thoughts in single file,
wait to see the depth and meaning, hidden in your eyes.
And through the dark and stormy skies, and though the light still slowly dies,
Up into the night I'll fly.. and sigh, to watch the days pass by, and lie,
to say I do not feel, or care, about you. Or what you think and what you do.
I do, and I wish you did, but you don't, or you can't, or wont,
So all I can do is feel, and write. Send this letter to you, tonight.
Just to make sure, and so... I think you're beautiful, you know.
What I see deep in your eyes, depth unmeasured by sea or skies,
Intellect, compassion, hope and fear, are all valued just as dear,
but depth, intensity of yours, your greatest gift, not worst of flaws.

Nicholas Bronson

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