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Poem

Etchings of sunlight, 
Shatter a glass world, 
A glass heart.
Melting the grains,
To create, 
To deceive the eyes,
To make love.
A puddle of molten glass,
Is held,
Shaped, 
And without meaning to,
Reformed delicately, 
Lightly,
Lovely...
So lovely...
He can't stand it,
The feelings that surge inside of him,
Of lust,
Of vanity,
But mostly of
Pure
Unadulterated 
Affection.
I believe there is a word for it.
No,
Not a word,
A name. 
Her name. 
The name that causes his entire body to erupt in flames that carry a raw passion that has fueled mankind for all existence.

It's a miracle, that something so...
Beautiful...
Can exist in the same world that my ugly heart does.
And even more miraculous, 
That she can't see that horrible heart of mine.
Or refuses to see it. 
Or sees it but refuses to view it as "ugly".
Or, 
Maybe,
Just maybe,
Could it be?
Has she changed that heart?
Has she drawn all the wanting,
The disregard, 
The hurt?
A heart that was once broken,
And decided it was its 
Duty 
To break others'.
But that's not what I want. 
I see her, 
And want only her happiness. 
Because it translates wonderfully into my own.
I don't know what I feel. 
I don't feel what I know.
And it slowly occurs to me,
As this structure breaks down into little more than a glorified letter,
That I don't love,
That I see her.
But instead I see,
That I love her.
I see a harbor of emotions,
That I don't exactly know the purpose of.
But damn.
Am I excited to find out.

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