“The Most Beautiful Man”

there he sat, my poet
filled to brim with fervor
pale fingers flinging his thoughts
with an almost careless grace
and untempered wit
as bits of himself were given
never to be returned
with anything resembling understanding
and he, unconcerned
I could not help but remember
those words which first caught me
unsuspecting, how unforgettable he
would come to be
I admired him there
for his conviction, his beauty
his wretchedness
and it was then that I knew
he was bound for greatness
even if only I saw it

© M. Black, 2016 All rights reserved.