Only in My Depictions

Years down the road when

I'm not longer traversing this earth,
scholars will pick up these poems.
As they read them they'll see
that a muse caught my heart
and my heart moved me to write.
Then, they'll study these poems
to discover this muse, which is you.
They'll try to paint your picture
from my words' paint drops.
They'll try to grasp your essence
from the image I've projected. 
Your image, which with words
I've tried to keep protected.
But they'll learn that they can't;
my words are only descriptions,
which are only my depictions
of how I perceive you as you.
But they aren't and never will be, you.
I try to preserve your independence,
your grandeur within this page
and within these many words,
but my mind's capacity can't
limit you to these confines.
So, study deep into these lines
but realize one thing as fact.
I may write about my muse
but not even I, the writer,
can concoct an image that will 
ever keep her reality intact.