A Beautiful Poem

He was a beautiful poem,

The kind, which makes you,

Fall in love, a different way

Each time, the kind

Which makes you fall

Over and again, each time,

Much more deeper

Then the earlier. He had it

In him, to lure you into

A trance of enchantment,

Hard to escape and the one

From which, you would never even

Wish to escape,

A soothingly enticing trap.

He was the kind

To love the stars and the sun

And the moon, and the oceans,

The birds and the trees,

All of what screamed of

An innocent beauty to him,

And there I stood

Adoring him, for the

Breath of fresh air

That he is, in this world full of

Enchanting manipulations.

To some, he seemed utterly naive,

To the others,

Perhaps the only good left,

The last bit of kindness,

To me, he was, the definition of pure love,

The incandescent kind.