this piece came to me as i was watching the now-ubiquitous (to me, anyway) videos of you in performance... 1975; you turned 17 that year. your crown shining, as you floated past your siblings... as i watched you i struggled with my anger as i reflected upon my own past, my gaze simultaneously filled with wonderment at your utter beauty. the only word i could think of, is 'perfection'.
in the end, your looks don't matter (particularly since you'd never be 17 forever, and besides, true beauty transcends physical form) but i must stop to celebrate the poetry of your... of that moment, ceased in time on a relic. within all the words i have written thus far, i find myself to be speechless. just read the piece, my teacher. it's actually the first piece i recall writing in about 4 years.
(note: this was finished at 8:17 am on 15 december 2009)
patience is what i have learned from you and what i am to continue to learn as i watch you spin effortlessly i marvel at how GOD could create anyone so perfect simultaneously acknowledging that no one actually is perfect your large brown eyes so deep and your features so strong as the ocean where some of your ancestors were perhaps buried
as you effortlessly spin i give in to the urge to marvel at your perfection i ask how GOD could create a being so beautiful a graceful swan emerging from the throes of adolescence head thrown back in ecstasy of the passion play of an evening's performance rapturously effortlessly spinning
your vibrato quakes my spine and moves to my insides as you sing about love and loneliness as if someone so perfect could be so lonely. you take me to places i should never imagine going who am i to think i could reach you when the oasis is broken with GOD'S cruel jokes of blemishes or getting caught in a microphone cord or a parent to say that your perfection is meaningless
and as i watch you gracefully glide across the floor i angrily question how someone can challenge your perfection, how a man from whose seed you were born could make such remarks