Love.

Love, is an ocean.
Echoes in, forever, motion

Love, is a breath
Too deep, to chest

You asked me what Love was, once,...
& I, knew naught thereof


Well,
Are you a puddle,
or an ocean?

When those that you love
throw rocks,
do they fall
to silt or sand?

Can you,
under storm,
feel the calm,
as it falls deep

Because if you embodied Love
arms out, stretched
shore to shore

& you took the sun,
as you took the storms

Knowing everything
thrown at you,
it'd all fall
to the floor

where darkness
takes hand
to make it all
just, no more

For when you find,
your silt & sand
you'll rest easy,
with the done
& what can

& the second,
you see him,
It'll feel like
you've never felt love before,..

Because you're okay,
knowing pain,
is soon sand

That's what writing does to you. It eats

your free time, and your soul it swallows

it whole, so that you don't get hurt

by flesh it breaks your bones with inspiration.

And, the feeling while I'm writing is this ecstasy

that controls my senses. I was meant for this,

ink tainted fingers, blank pages and this loneliness.

*Sandoval