Forever Beautiful

No sight
of any wonders
of the world,
no beautiful thing,
not anything,
could mean as much
as to see your face
look gently at me again,
no beautiful sound
could mean as much
as to hear you speak
softly to me again.
Since I lost you,
now I look
at what else
once seemed beautiful
and compared to you
it all seems dead,
lacking something
of what it once had,
compared to you,
and I would trade
all else that is beautiful
simply to know you,
so I can love you,
near to me again.
Without you near again,
everything else
that is beautiful
seems only a theory,
an aesthetic,
applied principles,
some abstractions,
components,
resemblanced to ideas,
concepts,
compositions,
a technical question,
but nothing really
really beautiful.
You would always be
more beautiful
to me.