Poets of G+ (Prompt of the Week) Impromptu

 

Prides' Desolation

I remember her voice,
soft, alluring, mysterious.
She often spoke of philosophy,
her philosophy was simplistic -
"Do what you enjoy."

I forgot what I enjoyed.
The way her lips moved
every time she spoke.
She slurred words together
on a poetic journey - a movement.

I remember her poetry,
flowing smoothly - symmetric
and precise.  She sliced words
like a surgeon, perfection
was her goal - she reached it.

I forgot what I enjoyed.
Her mind was incredible,
I could get lost in her thoughts,
the depth of her imagination -
endless, perpetual... redundant.

I remember calling her redundant.
Frustration from drowning in her
creative forces that overwhelmed mine.
She was the real artist...
And I was just blind.