If loyalty were colour and then drawn
Across the void in clear blue canvassed sky
As grand to turn the sovereign artist's scorn
Into a star perched centre in his eye,
And clouds to be impurities of purity
Devotion is known when devotions not
The idle efforts of obscurity
Yet oh! How beauty needs each sweetened dot,
The colour best that loyalty could make;
Which need reflect the finest skill at play,
Within the chest that love does love it take:
The blushing red and purple to display!

And from a distanced look at canvassed true
To be then seen: that glory's sight of you!

Oh what a task befalls this poet's write:
What ode for this a darkness of my mind?
Without no form unless my weary sight
How could my words of praise to disease bind?
Suppose this state is half to full and hence:
My dark companion seems a loyal friend;
As much as thickened clouds to summer's sense
As thought umbrellas block a healthy end.
And too with generousity I give
The praise: devotion, to the dreadful cause;
That fear owns life and in that fear to live
And breathe so happiness does not gift pause,

But here I pause in ink's defiant line:
Go back to hell oh devil, far from mine.

Oh Judge me not in death to love again
Sweet spirit rest and souls brace impermanence!
If ignorance is rife in worlds of men
Remember when embodied of essence,
Confuse not love with hearts forgetfulness
Still too in wait am I into your realm
That which did live has mine of loneliness
In tribute now to then my hearted helm!
Departed though my sweetest love beyond
Has such instilled a love and way to love
And have me deep in need alike that bond
Which has dear soul concerned far there above:

Rest love in all the bliss such souls command
If weren't your love, then mine is worthless sand.

If could a summer linger 'bout myself
Accompanied then by the master's eye
Up high and proud as perched on twelfth
With generous out-glow of amber's dye,
Then sandy strolls by sea are daily grinds
Their salty wash would trickle up my feet
On funny, little shells of whisper kinds
As seagulls chatter: glory to the heat,
Then Lord's spy will close eye of glow to sleep
Majestic summer wields it's magic night
As kisses softly breeze are mine to keep
And tell tomorrows bring it's beaming light.

Have summer in infinities galore!
But trade I would to feel her breath once more.

My weary mirror has no fun of late
It's stare is empty, cautious and as dim
As happiness when met in deathly date
What now is me appears into a him,
And he could sadden sad into a smile
In grin of measure wide that his decrease
Within a crept behind the eye of bile
In salt and wound that pains the skin to crease
For each a sullen ridge re-tells a sorrow made
By form as poor as deeply dug it's way
That pleasance birthed with vibrance were to fade
So have us left depressed into decay

What sulken form reflects mine eyes to see
The bitter sight and breathless life of me.

No Poem mends the bleeding heart,
Of ruptures, love had wrought upon.
Nor syllables express and part
That love with past their gone.

Why write then oh lovelorn friend
And poet?
Why stage your sorrows there?
Whom but within your pain shall know it
Whom even with heart shall dare?

Let know for sorrowed lovers that grief of ardence!
Your pain is shared
No heart is spared
Let words least mend the silence!

When all my dreams are lively dreams no more,
And dirt, my winter blanket covers me;
To join as dust eternal time has store;
The fate of fates does destine mine to be.
No shine of summer reach below the field
Let barren as the life had lived, now low,
But lest a bed of grass have fresh dirt shield
So none may think me buried six below.
That gentle patter of the autumn winds
Not play the beat this core once drummed ago
When spring did glow before what time recinds,
Leave damp and lonely soil and all it's woe:

That cold; be all my seasons, all of four
If I am not to see you evermore.