I found a poem
it was packed away
in a box in an attic is where it lay
dormant in the dark
unable to say
the words he had written
his final day

the attic has light now
he heard the switch click
come to me come to me
hurry! be quick
I've waited for years
for ions to be read
then the sound of turning pages
danced in his head

he awaited the light when he heard paper turning
and the smile of a face would have his heart burning
closer and closer as the pages were freed
then stopped at the title and did not proceed
did not proceed but the eyes he could see
through the thin journal paper the eyes he could see
and the tears ran down cheeks of a child all but 3
Daddy, he said, 'Can you read this for me?'
'Perhaps you can read it some other day
when you're old enough to know just what it might say
Off now my child, we can't be all night
lay down the book and turn off the light

and from that day forward he waited for me
the child to return
to set the words free

I apologize in advance,
For none of my love songs will have melodies.

I will laugh in euphony and cry in cacophany, I will bleed with every typo and breathe with every verse. I will think in metaphors and speak in rhyme.

I will tell you I love you
Not by using those three words
But by writing my own; pages at a time.

I will compare your eyes to lighthouses in the mist
And your laughter to a lark's opera.
You won't just hear me say "you're beautiful" (though you are), but go on for chapters about every little freckle.

You won't understand why I think so dramatically. Or why I take so long to choose my words (because I always know I can find better ones). You will become angry when I sit down and write because I just can't say what I want to with my voice.

But, most of all, I apologize for the way your face will fall when you read my poems and discover who I am. You will awe at how I can hide so much in those little notebooks. You will hear stories about me that will never escape my lips. You will tremble at the exhausted self that remains after I pour all that I am into the pen strokes on the paper.

For these things, I am sorry.
So please excuse me for being a poet.
And please excuse yourself for loving one.

- p. winter

Be like a sunflower.
Even when the sun hides, you can still shine.
The sun radiates from within.

I want to be just like the sun.

Because after it sets,
it rises.

And I, too, will rise.

Let your thoughts congeal
Into songs, into stories
And let them take flight

As I sat there praying on my knees.
I thought of what Jesus did for me.
How he shed his blood on calvary
So that satan's shackles on man would be broken free.
How could someone so powerful and perfect,
Have so much love and compassion for the unworthy?

This is the love I want to share with others
He said "delight in giving to one another,"
“be quick to forgive"
So I lift my hands in joy for what Jesus did.
his love hung for hours on a tree
so that people all over the world could be set free.
That, my friend, is what Jesus did for me.

I hope my tears water the sadness planted in my heart, so someday flowers grow again