The eyes speak a million languages,
Lips part to enchant,
Every breath wet with meaning
Yet the being so incomplete?
The soul so full of fire,
Face reflects the flame,
Each movement so hypnotic
Yet the being so incomplete?
Pristine is the grace
Incessant is the charm,
Every word is captivating
Yet the being so incomplete?
The heart throbs for no pain
Silent is all passion
Soul naught does forbear
Shall the being then stay complete?
