April blossoms bless my ears,
as she sings of falling leaves and snow.
Summer lives in every utterance;
Every note fulfils my soul.

Fairgrounds on the meadow glade.
Cloudless blue, and the green below...
I see it all behind her eyes; The skies
are Springtime when I hear those notes.

Vivaldi claims that seasons change,
and begin with falling leaves and snow.
When she sings, why then is it Spring?
The leaves fall fast, but the blossoms fall slow
in time with her voice, and my heart so aglow.

~
he who is a little ahead of his time
whose treasures of the words random
romanticism is in the blood, marrow,
his mood is as the autumn clouds

he who has lost his path within path
drowning with dreams, sunk you within dreams  
again holds thousands of lost dreams
fly the colorful kites in the blue sky

he who hide within himself
**** in his naked poetry
In forms humorous,harmonic  
as a portrait of the Vincent's starry night

he is a pilgrim who has lost himself within spirituality  
holds everything with the love  
who is for everybody so everybody is for him
But in fact there is nothing in all his

he who is simple straight as the waterfall
when in complex grew hard stone
who broke rules for building rules,
knows himself within the other life

whose words never be end
again he moves on and on
who laughs in the moonlight
again swept in pain without thinking any gain

who looks the life
as a grain of sand
and see the sign of love
in the footprint of a fossil

he who is a poet -
~

~

My flower, my precious one
to know your love
in the drifted rise of dawn and
honeysuckle flower
is to dream euphoric splendour
in the middle twilight glare,
the whispers of moonbeams
on incandescent sky star,
to breathe the breeze effervescent
flowing on the windswept
fields of petals of sunflower
under enchanting blue sky wishes,
to fall without cease in the love
beyond the borders of the north and
faltering horizons
of a desperate distant desire
My flower, my precious one
to know your love
is to know a world does exist
*for us only

As I descend downward
into darkness.
I find myself collecting
omens like a *******
collecting diseases.

Fighting demons,
my eyes cannot see.
Doesn't mean they're any
less real than you or I.

Living in the dark.
The Sun's too sad to shine today.
And you, my Love, are equally as sad.

They say repetition makes you remember things easier.
I forget what his face looks like every now and again I forget what his face looks like every now and again I forget what his face looks like every now and again I forget--

They say if you say a word too many times,
it loses it's meaning.
I'msorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry
sorrysorrysorryso­rrysorrysorrysorry.
Please staystaystaystaystaystaystaystay.

They say if you say something enough times...want it bad enough, it'll come true.
He'll come back to me, he'll come back to me, he'll come back to me.

They say that sometimes, if you love someone, it means you have to let them go.

But if I don't remember,

who will?

never fall in love with a boy who
speaks in lavender soliloquy and
smells like cigarettes and melancholy;
whose kisses leave you in nirvana and
whose flesh lays in some lovely façade;
for he is a poet, a philosopher, and a believer
whose mind will disappear into breathless purgatory
when you're not even looking
and by the time you'll find out
you'll already have lost him somewhere,
between wandering verbosity,
and ashen wordlessness