His presence haunts my soul,
by Niealie Petit
like the quiet that consumes a deaf man's ears
or the warmth that blankets a long summer's night.
His voice; a mellifluous, melodious, melody of sound
that reverberates in my ears.
Does he know his perfection? Does he even notice it-hanging
about him like a ripened apple just waiting to be plucked.
He is everything extraordinary about man.
He is brilliance personified.
Does he know his beauty? Does he even recognize it-striking
like a bed of dandelions dancing in the spring, just dying to be seen.
He is an intricately woven human tapestry.
He is both art & life.
But, to me, he is simply he.