My mind is restless, you are blamed for this
infesting logic with the bluest eyes
and tearing scepters with your flawless kiss
from stems that lift mind's wealth unto your guise.

So feeble me, who gives all thoughts to you
with even those that'll have me leap and run
they stay with you, and leave behind the rue,
that portion starves and you in me have won.

Ah! Now your toning calms the waves of doubt
to think of you is as to sail the day
to think of love, cannot have thought without,
it's you, and all that mastered mine to sway.

So know my love that thoughts have bred this truth
you have in me, so conquered all untruth.

Depression is; a desert well of sand
no water drops are left to tear the pain
and buries hearts as granules hold remand
for there alone and in; despondent shame.

A grief within a world that none can hear
nor venture near enough to sense one's dry,
the inner voices scream but choke on fear
to speak; is churning neath the weighted sigh.

To walk with feet that sink, in winds that burn
and forms the tallest dunes that grows to tame
then render one like lifeless dust to urn
and better then to be in death than maim.

Depression is; that plain that sorrow bore
and that is just an hour, the hell has more.

The cyclic seasons give a cause in soul
to view the mortal realm in seasons gone
for winter was our start and is our end
yet ice will always melt with Spring to dawn.

So sweet the Lillie's scent when sun rays win
buds fissure out and eyes of Spring to see
that if undone, the birds of love would sin
as oaks with none a leaf, could call a tree.

Auroral orb sustains and mirrors youth
so raised with graceful red and set to dark
that autumn wings atone and age with truth
so brought by winds to ice and left their mark.

We are mere tourists; in a season's change
so forge and live this well, for none exchange.

The turn of Spring aligns this love of mine
a winter glaze of lonely sleet dissolves
and splay the buds towards the golden shine
as snowy drops, her namesake fair evolves.

Each rose with mirrored red have toned her blush
that greeted from the whispered words of love
on petals kiss and hue then spread this crush
rebirthing eyes from out the cold above.

The Tulips worship skies with loving glow
as tho' in stem and reach implants my heart
and rainbow gloss as such that they do know
with all the hope and promised Summer start.

So call love Spring as I have cause to gleam
restoring life that once had none beseem.

I wonder where the stillborn souls reside
from breathless births, the cherub orphan parts
to migrate; as the promised womb had lied
so close to air and lands with beating hearts.

The love is strong despite the eyes unseen
and rattles snatched in for a gilded wand,
no carat haze could meet what love had been
if cries were nurtured by a mothers bond.

If rearing love outweighs a seraph's love
no golden mother measure to replace
then is to reason; infants wait above;
until the babes and kin unite in space.

A haven till the babies lost reclaim!
O' stillborn wait for love as tho' became.

Bereft like groaning, are the summer storms;
unhappy growls despite the humid joys
and why I join the chorus Zeus performs?
My chest is burnt by Sun rays, love employs.

Then from the heat I curse the skies a-light!
observers witness this; mid-season change
from golden sands to shading grains of spite
and surf dissolve where spume to sight; outrange.

As time to wounds, I rumble, till the gales
Ah! Soothing are the breezes of relief
tho' hurt and whine with rain and whimper wales
a brighter dawn will turn the days of grief.

I lingered in; the summer storms of  loss
then drip the rain - until new love can gloss.

Dearest mother
if time entwined and did reverse
I would visit you and no other
for golden landmarks I' traverse
to behold you again with my brother.

Take me in time and stall
to son again in your embrace,
of plumage wings - my Great Wall
and that seraph auroral grace;
a thousand daisies in the fall.

Simper again your lullaby tune
when restless fought a pillow
and silvery specks of moon
caromed each - off a willow
cavorting clefs of boon.

My love is more than the birds
when upward gazing them by
sensing your essence that girds
in each dove whimpered sigh
amorously warbling your words.

In this poem - I write true
the psalms of your inner way;
'as sure that your eyes are blue,
my child reared by the bay,
even in death - I love for you'.