A lasting trace, is the smile captured for years
Beneath the fabric of long tresses, like curtains to rain over her eyes.
Eyes that blossomed many tears
For joy’s sake, and for the end of suffering.
I muse over her face, like an artist with his brush
To paint the many years in picture.
She was all the pain of love, and its exquisiteness.
Sorrow claimed its own path, in many moments.
She showed my world, its very color.
For before I knew her, all where my vision extended
Was the black and white drawing
Of charcoal against canvas.
Beauty is now for me, to a certain degree
Because, death will always claim it.
And, I soon come to rule over death, and then deny it
When in the memory of the face of love.
Because, I know that to remember her for her presence,
Is far better than knowing she’s absent.