The most beautiful people in this world don’t ever know how beautiful they are
The most beautiful people in this world don’t ever know how beautiful they are
When I imagine you, it’s on a mountaintop, watching a flaming sky
And you’re free, as free as your spirit throws its heart out, as free as your perambulations
Across the globe, which always return, heart, spirit, and body
To your home.
The pure soul washes others clean,
A few bits of grit don’t dirty it–
The pure soul is an ocean,
A mountaintop, a breath of
Fresh air above the clouds.
A real human being
Is at home wherever he goes in the world,
And you’ve been at home in mine.
A companion of the woods, of long walks
Out past the breakwater on the catwalk,
Of foreign films and long emails
Short postcards, between the
Two of us we’ve circumambulated
The globe, but still–
This is our home and we
Always found our way back, we said.
Lives diverging and converging again,
On repeat, like all those playlists
You’ve sent.
And anyway, you don’t realize
Just how you were there
Even when you were absent because
You were somehow constant,
And consistent,
Companion.
As old souls are,
No matter what changes in or around them–
So thank you–
And–
You imagine ways people might see you
But it only matters what you believe about yourself–
For the record, what I see before me
Is a beautiful and wise soul.
Margaret King is a Wisconsin writer who enjoys penning poetry, short stories, and young adult novels. In her spare time, she likes to haunt the shores of Lake Michigan, similar to many of her fictional characters. She has forthcoming work out in Unlost Journal, and recently was featured on Deracine Magazine’s website.
