I wouldn't know
the genius of Van Gogh
I only know what I feel
The glorious sight
of his color and light
is more
than I've a right to steal

Is it the Shakespeare
or is it love
Is it a rapier
on the wings of a dove
****** into his open heart
testing the poison
of Cupid's dart
Is it an elixir
poured from a sonnet
or he is bewitched
from the look of her bonnet
Is it Shakespeare
or is it love
or maybe the kiss
of her sweet scented glove

Cherish those rare moments
when we have the ability
to settle and relax
into thoughts of our youth
and remember the simplicity of ourselves

How sad
the long face of a friend
or one who has
stood so long
on a side of the mirror
as to call him as none other
Both think some fear and loathing
are feelings they share
Each thinks the other phony
Hence, the contemptuous stare

Yes, beware
The Ides of March
Tis the Spring
Of our discontent
But, Lord, what fools
These mortals be
When they heed
The ears they lent
There is nothing
Either good or bad
But thinking
Makes it so
And if the head
Won’t yield to reason
Then up the ****
It goes!

That fleeting moment
of divine inspiration
floats like a leaf
on a warm Autumn day
Gather it quickly
and pull it close to your heart
before a cold wind
comes and blows it away

May the light of a smile
put a song in your heart
and see you thankful
for a place with the living
May the beautiful promise
of a better tomorrow
be the gift
that keeps on giving