Unhappy smiles, you wear that I'm deceived
Remember tho' your hearted grins before
When summer days did match that I received.
Forget? Think not, your early teeth that wore
Unveiling full from once your lively lips.
Your muscles tensed of late, with speech as less
And when recite, you read from ready tips
You wrote when love had none to give you stress.
So I shall leave you to this sadly tune
But when your pain can sing, let ring my ear
And know; that song of grief, i'm not immune
Let yours atone with mine, that cupids hear.

Tho' tried, your veil can't hide that love, depressed
When out unburdens those, I'll gift you rest.

If love were formed and rendered by a God
then dearest lover, blessed have you been
for he, or she, with wand had also ****
and touched upon your cast, a beauty's sheen.

Exquisite works that I so marvel oft
as other Gods, like that whom rules the sun;
had sought to bind such glow, with light aloft,
and nightly moons, into your eyes, have won.

Your love, and God thereof, have greater worth
as love has pierced within and won my mold
residing deep, into my source of mirth,
that if no love, let Gods alike withhold.

As love that truest, must be dreamed above,
there's only one such power; God of love.

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.

I wonder if an unusual flock of white crowned sparrows
Were there that day, that fateful day
Sensing, by which means I know not;
The carnage about to come.
In a frenzy of panic I can imagine the flutter
The unruly encirclement over the festivities.

Perhaps an onlooker gazed upon the sparrows
Momentarily captivated by crying white birds
Together with an eerie hush from the desert wind
Surmising that this is an ominous sign,
Could this be one last final thought of the departed.

For high up in the Mandalay, thirty-two to be exact,
Malevolence hailed down -hailed on a strip of the Mojave.
Smokey rounds undiscrimately raced, laced,
With hate into the music lovers.
Did the Red Rock echo the automatic distant mutter;
The disturbing sounds of mass tuned celebrators' dissarayed.

To what cause is there for such bareful morality?
What heart on 32 could not the feel the serenity;
Of the soothing, harmless country beat?
Then still, sought it fit to take many away
Away from their sacred land and kin.

Many souls - stunned by the sudden halt to dancing
Directed upwards, towards the sun
Yearning to return for one last goodbye.
Perhaps then, that same flock of white crowned sparrows
Native to the north - were grasped by the fallen
By some divine intervention.

Then to return to the scene in the Mojave,
Chirping farewell to the bereaved,
Gracing once again - the soil of the free land;
They loved, and perished upon.
Then into the abode - well above the desert sky.

How shall I know my love in heaven's sphere?
As she'd have cast her barest essence form,
and hue that once was known, may not appear
nor sight anew in Eden, then conform.

My plea for her, unheard in foreign tongue?
Angelic speech may single none, but all,
and whilst the angel's realm my deeds have done
she'd fuse with higher realm, and heed no call.

Although unseen, her spirit - I have touched;
such depths the bond that death had left as strong,
and onto each of love that made I clutched,
that would eternal love with us belong.

Ah yes! Our love on earth had formed a sun!
And would in haven then, have glowed and won.

How long until the moonlight orbs her eyes?
Since newly rose, she's grown to meet her prune
And I; a marbled sculpt who pondered wise
Had let all time within her grasp, to boon.
This cherry blossom has me stilled beside,
To wait; recalls a dream on petal'd fields
That I held one in winds with love as guide.
Yet she has bound a force from which she shields;
A wit that beauties fair had least resist.
Ah! Newer glance reveals the specs of stars;
A lover's twinkle gave a favored twist
That as the night foretells; a gain for Mars!

Her virtue met me neath the freckled night
I catch that star, which has her moons alight.

My love for you is as the water falls
cascading off the higher bedrock peak,
outpouring rugged edged and rigid walls
in endless flowing streams, from love's mystique.

To sparkling summer dew on cradling leaves,
condensed to drops, when you were playing dreams,
then from the slightest brush upon your sleeves
then downpours honey scented, splashing seams.

When pupils soak and darker skies then seep,
in every pearl descent, I'll be within
no burden then alone in moistened weep
when grief has dried, the falls again shall win.

My whirlpools gush! Or trickle morns anew
or crawl from wetted eyes, for only you.

When will decay defeat her beauty's flair?
For many - an eclipse has turned the night
and left no token seam for her to bear,
unless our maiden moon has stilled my sight.

Her grace within may blind my wrinkled browse
and render form and smile to greater wealth
and trance me in a state where she allows;
each breath of love - within it's truest self.

Tho' morning's glow appears a solar truth;
that from the amber beams her skin renews.
Ah no, I'm in the haze of lover's youth!
For I've become a temple to my muse.

Then I shall live her grandest, bright allure!
And ever young she'll be, mine eyes assure.

Shall I compare you to the spring of May?
You warmth a light that too has Winter won
Although your glow sustains a longer day
And has one wonder when the sun begun.
You do out-blush the shyest red of rose
And snowdrops only dream to hue your skin.
Yes birds do sing and differ yours than those
But springtime mirth do match as tho' are kin.
The dills rebirth, yet you appear unchanged
As tho' your beauty powers floral will
And by your petal'd eyes have rearranged
The gorgeous buds to stare your beauty still.

You hold the month of May and splendor of
That tho' from out yourself, is spring thereof.

I wonder if you know I love you so;
As vast that you can dream, as real as touch,
As swiftly sweet as springtime breeze can blow
And many greens they brush, yes love that much.
Above where skies can't reach and stars there shine
As deep in earth where meets the other side,
As rare as Mars and Venus would combine -
A perfect sphere where love upon there ride.
Aloud as tho' if all the birds would sing
The song my love and only heart does know,
Then long you'd hear, and still not ev'rything;
My love renews as oft that breath does flow.

If I there be to where your eyes can't see
That write of love herein is this here me.

Has life no sweeter sounds than breathes your chords?
Sensations have me wild to ancient voice;
To powered wailings, of Armada's swords.
Tho' known my ears, would you'd been sailor's choice
And if so moved as I, then they'd have won.
The muse of classic notes, had they'd been sung
To tunes of angel mine when morn' meets sun
Would not had tragic end, but love that strung
With solo harps and scores of violins.
Ah! None could meet the air as your recite;
Aloud this ode, as from such tongue begins.
tho' blind to beauty owned, O' read despite!

And if so swayed as whom the pen began
then known no other song; I love more than.

Past week, on the night of Tiw
an uneasy candle-flame wavered
censored by hushed air kisses
casting doubt upon an ode;
scribing the blessed years of youth.

This pine scented disturbance
no doubt - an Autumnal message;
that rear weathered doors
failed in the tempered change
curiously bidding, further venture.

Patio' marbles were shrouded
creeping with expired foliage
leaves tainted old hickory
near devoid of all famed ochre,
merciless to breaths of the fall.

That sombre mulched pattering
was alike wistful wondering;
of delicate and shadowy footfalls
from condemned, exiled seraphs
strung by moonlight rays.

The flavescent master glistened,
whilst duelling a clouded force;
enclosing in vaporous march
smearing pebble trailings,
the skirmish roused nostalgia.

For eerie quivers - of familiarity
wrought from the despondency,
as if epitaphed notions of old
were recited by alto whistling,
each note rekindling a memoriam.

An exhale of soulful proportions
sent adrift an essence;
a smouldering encirclement
of exhumed - solemnly recalls
taken from seasonal chapters of yore.

Those hearted ashes of distant times
cavorted - as sterling embers
with a phantasmic replica
of an adoration long gone,
duetting on pockets of melancholy.

Then beauty settled into a sepulchre,
caressed by grieving wreath petals
saddened by silken veil,
awaiting the fateful - dust and sand;
the remnants of embodied divination.

Revived dolor swelled from within
tiding from old, emotive cicatrices
buried deep and then deeper
until from this panoramic taunt
does this churned anguish vein.

A corrosive, timely hiss from Carpo
brushed the illusions past
as once - to a maidens' mortality;
a premature cremation of dreams
lingering the bitterness of decay.

As the pining sky orb retreated
so too - this observer with mourn
stuttering farewells to the nameless
then returned to the forgiving study
to immerse again - in better times.

Shall words engrave upon my silver stone;
Beneath the title, birth and date I died?
For merely left from worms, is dusty bone
Not there in dust can love let love abide;
That's pure cannot be buried, eaten, cold.
Then false to scribe love's found if here erode
But note there diggers dead to those of old;
If they perturb my everlasting ode
Then they'd have drawn the soul wherein were bound
And curse upon them; out of love they'll be;
As whom these shameless raiders have just found,
Then know that state in which is this here me.

     'What lay beneath is far from
     better self
     Disturb me here then cursed from
     lovers' wealth'

When I foresee the doom pollution brings:
I rush for fresher air, but sighing more;
For out of younger lungs have we their wings?
Deprived what youth knew-not had breathed before.
At times I fall like many fallen trees
To lay there wonder: what am I to you?
While whispers send their answers by the breeze:
Without there me, have life no air that knew.
Yet hope do linger deep in future's eyes
Pray, hope will show before their eyes have closed:
Regrets are afterthoughts of somber guise;
While bustling earth turns loneliness reposed:

Immense in scale that all may drift in blaze
Then we'd have left in wake, our human ways.

Recoiling from the mirrored death, I gasp;
since when did time then bring on wrinkled fears
where skin unmolded youth from out its grasp
and left behind this cast, reflecting years.

That sudden, darken dawning sight unveiled,
but wounds overt, are not as quick the eye
yet how I'd missed my failing, form detailed,
immortal dreams had schemed; to age defy.

Ah! Best my early days knew truly not
for I had lived as ever I'd be fair,
and if that time revealed this torrid rot
I would, then linger onward, tho' of wear.

I'll take this crinkled skin, for I were young!
And spent as tho' to age, knew not my tongue.

A cluster of engraved birches
personifies a love of old,
upon sequins – Eros perches
bowing echoes 'long the wold.

Sweeten dew of noble rain
debris not – the emblem crust
nor bird of plumage stain
the hearted sketch of trust.

Nimble scouts of chirping worth
cavort and tune a number
wrought the song of her ole mirth
upon the sleek n' lumber.

Spectres - Illume of gold
stipple maps the spine
each bark n' rip that holed
glistens that was mine

Shrubbery - melodious swaying
curious tips like many eyes
as though my love were playing
and I - was in her guise.

Amorous whispers breeze;
she lingers not 'neath the burrow
but bristles with the trees,
in rooted limbs that furrow.

Wonder if - by the brook
the hustle, still she graze
of gentled hand n' took
and swept my ardent daze.

When aboard and ponder
I drift back to amber birches
there in idle wonder
bequeaths - my soulful searches.

When mind's own memoirs wither down to bone
then whom shall know my love in distant years?
For lest I carve her ode on graven stone
tho' grey is colder than my love appears.

Tho' many birches bear my hearted etch
and golden rays may stipple love and shrine,
arborists dead to old will send my sketch
to paper sheets, inscribed of love not mine.

On webbing sites my posts shall render true
but then unused accounts shall too erase
or kin may not so trust what's old, to new
my love that lost in time, will too in space.

This timeless form of type, I now shall choose!
Yet if undone, let love in death, recuse.

The laziest of eyes cannot miss you
You do not know that fair were meant for sight
For sight is blindness if he never knew
That beauty yours exist in beauties' plight;
To meet the eye and then be worshipped so
Then he of passing eyes who seeks the one,
And who does wonder none and waits your show;
Deserves your beauty when each morn has won.
Let I purpose you are the fairest fair
The form my sight does see when even closed
My eyelids know you well and draw you there
And have your stunning gaze on me so posed;

If this you know, then beauty needs me not
For you're my eyes, the rest are left forgot.

If found her beauty, then have found my eyes:
As painter's draw their muse, do mine of hers;
That when in blink her lovely youths apprise
Depicting truth as tho' by glass transfers;
No dreaming brush omits the slightest curve
Nor other light bestow that grace increase;
That artistry does best by mind preserve
So she through time bare not of time's decrease.
Yet could the years by force of cruel age,
Redraw by season's pen what I had drawed?
No! Art's the soldier 'gainst what time can wage;
Whilst skin may crease, by heart is none withdrawn!

But when her portrait's gaze outlasts my time
This canvas shall replace her frame with rhyme.

Shall I recite for you my feeling's worth?
My love-hearts count in more than all the birds,
evolving new as would their flocks rebirth
and drift like feathers, till their turn to words.

Aloft in love I gird within your glow
as tho' your warming grace reheats my sun
and breathe the sweetly breezes wings do know
and out the skies I call of love you won.

The sunsets only when in resting sleep
but I nest where the dreams are sweet and soft
and fly within this heart of crimson deep
for love is each your world, and I aloft.

If love made plumes then know they would reside
into your heart, and there will they abide.

I wish I had a boat
For yonder past the bay, on a clear azure painted day
Dripping of briny spray - I would float.
I'd also likely gloat,
Brag and mutter; of the absence of worldly clutter
Without disdain I'd utter - an ode soaked note;
To the magnificence would wrought this boat.

How I've longed to drift
To fuse with motion - to sway upon that curved, wavey potion
Pondering the notion - of this swelled gift.
The answer cometh swift;
Took me from the predators, stingers and creditors
The lies of the editors - and fractions they rift,
Dissolving into moana - they'd sift.

All alone with the deep;
Of corals a glow under hatchlings of roe,
Steadfast in flow; plankton they'd reap,
Whilst I'd ponder - my last leap.
For one could do worse than a liquid hearse
With no curse - dare stalk that steep,
And no soul for me - would weep.

Sunken then - I'd take this boat
For we'd be capsized, that vainly I'd be baptized
Blended and disguised; in that ever wide moat.
Perhaps I seem the dote,
Drastic and careless that I be airless
Surely tearless and near full bloat,
Perhaps 'tis best; I have no boat.

If from your depth of chest you gift me more
And lace that gift you'd give as that bestowed
I fear my worth undone for your outpour
As meager even now to what your owed.
For beauty of your eyes lends light to mine
My darker shades may taint your glow unjust.
Not by an absent love, but lack of shine;
Before you graced were I a love in rust.
Ah! That, I do possess, so renders you
In greater light, as darkness does the moon
And had you worship'd more than what I knew
Alike how winter's day gives summer boon.

I need you as your beauty needs my eyes
They grant you form, without all beauty dies.

How do I write of love, unlike before?
Have bards of old then dripped and dried all pens
that none a phrase nor sequence left to roar,
my hearted themes then blind to any lens.

Should I then rhyme and pray my wit appear
to scheme a love no sonnet, dare have done,
for those who seek to read what love is here
and touch an essence tho'; anew had won.

But if my page imprints a loving new
have I deprived a future poet's scheme
that he be lost, as I am now with rue,
that works, tho' felt, another may beseem.

But love, is love, no other word can meet,
and if that love his own, none can defeat.

It seems that unborn offspring
passing before birth
actually yield in the Spring
in blossom fragrant mirth.

In floret violet haze
hyacinths cluster eyes
harmonic in swaying gaze.
budding - the unborn guise.

Robins melodically ode
tuning for mothering Flore
that blessed be an abode
unlike dreams lost before.

Snowdrops, are stillborns,
eager infants - were close
sadden bells still mourns
eluded breaths and bows.

Garden times of springs
sensor a revival of life
a budding glow that brings
ardent greeters to rife.

If hearts knew sense then would the heart flow love
For prior to that streaming lease of joy
A sense will warn, as duty bounds behove;
Foretelling pain; that'll meet the heart's deploy.
And renders love reversal for a while
The broken down duration known by none,
Is here that sense would leave the heart to rile;
To chance the pain or curb where love had won.
Ah! Idle hearts are spawning grounds for hate
One taste of bile deters to love; from most
Then spite of sense would love rejoice to mate
And any lesser cause; a morbid host.

If heart's took sense, then still would lover's glow
For better than; what loveless hearts do know.

My love would frown, if could, about this stone;
For grey had never pleased her fashioned eye
And Times Old Roman carved for older throne-
Not beauty, youth, no mason knew could die.
Would they, as I, denounce that fair be bones?
Thereby no empty tomb would need a cross,
Engravings spared from eyes of teary loans:
That borrows from a grave's imprint of loss.
But plainly there invokes her name in etch:
Confronting on my dreams that have her live-
As vividly as breath, her beauty's sketch,
Yet sight to stone cannot in death unlive.

Upon then mason grave this line 'neath hers:
'If here resides, then here too mine refers'

O' where does every rose go when it dies?
As love's a rose, and idleness does rot;
Then roses wither down to dusty guise -
With every thorn and every prickly dot.
Yet is to love, to grow a petal leaf?
That if befalls, the stem of love withhold,
Then love for one is what does die of grief
And limbs left mourn, to bleed for love of old.
Are we of blessed bodies with a rose -
That mends the bleeding limb and loves again?
Again, again til time does then repose -
The flow of love, then rose to dust; is then.

Tho' care upon this flower near the core;
If bled to dry, then love has loved no - more.

I'm in between the festive year of new
and tied by thought within the others past;
reflecting that of love with broken rue
for pain against the clock has still out-last.

The ticks along the road to heal divert
and beat of lover's strain as tho it were,
the face of time has waned and tears exert;
from in those ripple drops I've lived a-blur.

But still hearts cling to passing seconds by
as tho' each tick were latched abound with hope
Ah! Let the new year bring new love to try
and then from out the pain will time elope?

I've done my time within the hearted hurt
now nineteen bring me love! Leave grief inert.

O' turn the sun to where she now resides;
That here be dark, and there she's cast in full,
Then if the heart does see, the heart abides
Into the brightest dream of strongest pull.
Then in that golden glow, love has returned;
Brought forth on tips of rays, that shined before,
And has convinced that moment never spurned,
Has self deceived when dwelling deep in yore?
Yes! Each a light does bring a shadow 'neath;
When most revealing is when most in trance
And tho' ablaze the black becomes a sheath,
Till best the dark that were, than now the glance!

Love not the love that lost, but love to be
Avoiding then; the bitter sight I see.

Partake my heart and seek the listless flesh
And know these parts have long since lingered ill
Let gift with time, and mine return afresh
With love as truest that a heart can will.
Tho' if no patience has your love entwined
Then may you find these portions, bitter taste
With none to worth a fairest love refined
That needs one ready made to meet your haste.
Ah! Tho such break may sicken more within
My idle beat may cease if left too raw
If let you touch just once, and I, therein
Then would you've given lease to lover's law.

Where love resides, is where I'm sorely lost
Revive me there, despite a lover's cost.

If I had breath to give but one last word
Could love weight all my brimful heart's outpour?
Or need it sound; that ears have not yet heard
For love's familiar so; one needs not more.
Adore, would have I gasp, a vowel's gift
Tho' if my heart converts, that metric fails
For two has none to send, that deep; uplift.
Beloved, flows swiftly as tho' it sails;
As onto both the sides of love it wings,
Yet tense is past, and I'll be fervor still
So vast the feel, that in the death; love sings!
Then love let love be last the word of will.

Know then; love's word is short with many use
Tho' is the sound of hearts, and last diffuse.

It seems that all the roses lay here dead
To wither as the love that saw them grow.
The greying petals pegs the lover's bed
That fairest high by touch has too this low.
The fallen eyelids blink when breezes hush
And eyes of red recount the missing trims
Then bounds the sigh of whimpered love me nots
To whirl in loss around the hollowed limbs
Where blossoms grew, to leave love's loveless spots.
Ah! Roses too will meet the fate of dust
Tho' long the stay, new kisses sweep away
For then; has won anew and saved the rust
And lift the lover from their bed to play.

If love has lost, the outlook bleaks distort
Until a newer rose meets love's retort.

If onto death's own writ, I shall assign,
no casket then entomb this hollow husk
for wood has nobler task, than shelter mine
or wreak of tales from grief decaying musk.

Nor churches kiln, atone my steep abyss
so forged and billows when - the churning yields
tho' stone is cold, the sadness, I'll not miss
then lest repose to ash in barren fields.

Let none then ember from this corpse's blaze
if fire contrives to token dust therein
resist the soot, tho' if outdone by haze
then urn of brittle make - as was herein.

Should years devalue mine - own powdered rust
let sprinkle where; the winds shall sweep in gust.

If found my mermaid, then too found my eyes
By me she breathes and breathes the deepest seas
With dual fins that needn't rely the thighs
Nor need by lungs intake the taller trees.
My feet remand by sand in darkest blue
Her sparkle swims by night, or is it day?
Yes with her kiss has needed air so blew
Without, beneath the strain, my core's decay.
The salty squints does sting as brine does know
Yet how my love beside with love withstood!
I tread and tread the ocean's sandy low
And mermaid blesses on with loving good:

Tho' currents depth and vastness have me bound
By mermaid's heart gifts mine that I'm not drowned.

What metaphor could meet a love-lost pain?
A dove cry only; has the breeze which hears,
and broken shards of wine could merely stain
tho' love-break shades the red off Merlot's peers.

A scarring heart has love enclosed in seal
to live a scab within the sorely chest
but challenge those; who can produce such zeal
as to remand the flow of Cupid's pest.

A winter's rose; has love's same-stem alive
tho' dormant, doubt the same love-limbs regrow
perhaps there's none that meet, that grief revive
may take them all and have ones love in woe.

No glass could break the same, no single tone
could have one's sorrowed heart, as tho' to own.

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.

Describe depression? Sleepless, nothing-ness.
Continuous night whilst yearning for day
To only find that day will offer less;
A state of halfway within a no-way.
To know that love for others dwell within
Yet hearted wings bare not that love to reach
For feathers burn beneath neurotic pain;
Alike a humid hell than summer beach.
Where scorched it dwells; to form a human stain.
A stain whose mainly thoughts are means to end;
For better be, a world that has no me
As love defines, but self has none to send
Not even for one's own, as love's not free.

Depression takes all worth and leaves one none
Incessant demons whisper; till they won.

The sadness has me helpless as the sand
Awaits for waves to drown upon with salt
Yet even granules know when tides do land
But pain's unrhythmic swells are timed to fault.
With heaviness befalling on my view:
That better be the air, if none found here;
Nor ever were, nor should have been or knew,
For none about the Sun can mine endear.
Each breath deems stolen out from greater lungs:
A weary war my will is not to win
For yonder cloud is death and death's all tongues
Inhale for why? When lifers is life's sin.

Relentless as the waves, such flows the pain
But with me and have left the deepest stain.

Shall I reveal how oft my thoughts of yours?
As plenty as the stars do maze the sky
And each their shooting spec with their explores
And sparkle they; as lit my inner eye.
O' I too think of you; when skies are blue
They flutter with the birds of snowy white
Then as the feathers fall, as does for you;
Each plume affix with love of mine recite.
I wonder you; no more than waves can bring
No less than all the shells who whisper love,
But even more than petals of the Spring.
Give thoughts to voice, and you have heard your dove.

To count the granules of a sandy beach
Would number thoughts, much more than I could teach.

Am I alike a yoyo? Stringed and thrown
by knots around my hearted centre piece
to spin a course that's set, not by my own
but from unhappy masters, bored to cease.

Contently turning mind and heart abound,
to speed the limit, then return the aim
as tho' my thoughts of change and love rebound
within complacent discs, that they reclaim.

Life seems to whirl me like a yoyo trick
complexed entwining threads that then unfurl
to only then again with just a flick
have spun me dazed, bemused within the twirl.

I'm tied to play, confined within the same
tho' end it will, is that another game?

I have presumed and wrote, that heaven's guard
would greet and welcome me, when age had won
but if that golden staff would wave me barred,
what fault had I, to just - my soul outdone?

Would my offense be matters scaled with love
for deep into the past's of May; love cried
when angels swept her past the clouds above,
and only Spring this year, had love retried.

Ah, could my newer flame have burned the seers;
for hearted vows, in death could still ordain,
if fallen whispers grieve in angel ears;
that promised - only she, in love would reign.

O' parted love, weep not, that heaven's bless!
Tho' love here changed, means not - our love is less.

Your golden curls, your golden curls! I miss
As day could miss the sun, and sun would May
And if that month were I a bud to kiss
I'd splay to none, unless your light was day.
True beauty is; in essence of all springs
And that same glow had favored you at birth.
Tho' sweetly gifts to soil your flesh now brings
Is I whom miss, and buried there my worth.
How jealous I; of grass upon your mound
As they can reach to where now lays my love
And tap upon your coffin; peace is found!
That essence none to waste - may spring behove!

You were my gold of Spring, tho' now returned
within the sacred mire, your spring had earned.

Tactility is nearly lost, exploring this wall
this plain white wall, where hangers once pierced.
Like a mime, almost, but hands have little feeling,
each white indent a symbol of a time - hopeful smiles.
Contact, is hesitant adherence to regularity
below the threshold of social living.

Heaviness diversifies through the vein maze,
like a bulkier fluid with no vitality, purposeless;
Except to disseminate the morose sense to the brain
filling like in a tub - bathing in burning tar,
burning - only temporarily relieved by peeled skin
burying all self worth and nostalgia.

Existence becomes consumed by waves of neurotic death
the plague wins the inner feud against movement;
cry or yell - what will it serve when light is dimming.

Mother did suggest therapy, thought she would,
how can a mind degree diminish the weight of these boulders
placed on each nerve, rolling back and forth;
on my heart.

Options for relief? Pressures release
may come in a silvery sharp form,
Just one, surely just one would last long enough
to drift this being from the sorrow and shame.
Dribbles at first, then the flowing burgundy waterfall
trickling hands, onto the hardwood floor.

It takes me away
I drift with the ripples, streaming
a wry smile arises and finally: sleep.
Hospitals are all to familiar
that disinfectant odor
and that beep - that constant beep monitoring pulse and life.
Now all to aware of: burgundy falls.

To when our kiss of love will be the last
I pray to know it last, then whisper too.
Before you rose, in love were I miscast
As darkest crane that none in flocks imbue.
Until in April dreams you perched my nest
From out your Venus star and into mine.
You found in worth my plumes that withered best
As shone by pending brides, of lusts repine.
Ah! Yes, you weathered each love's fabled storms
That I sent well to guard the voiced behest
For deep, I yearned that teach of heart's reforms
That last you made and spoke within  my chest.

I'll gift these all, if moments near the end
But now I love, and yours shall I attend.

My eyes know beauty's art has need for praise;
For beauty stares herself into defect
And has believe the suitors pass her gaze;
Then seeks some vial to apply effect,
Adverts desire do play to worsen her;
Perfection shown does taunt the blemished seen:
'Till godly art has then became a blur-
That rapids youth to then what has now been.
But as with beauty's grace mans voice can't shy
And bounds him words into rethink her eyes
That her to her own beauty can't deny:
Her portrait has the sun in her arise;

As tho' in beauty one has two allowed
Should one have lost itself about a cloud.

O' why am I that one without a nest?
I must love self enough to single 'lone,
I dare to not believe, for self-love's jest
It's likely Venus whom had left my throne.
A royal seat at sea with none in view
For deep the fairest swim, so knows the King
Whom fishes with no bait nor love *****
Without a depth of love to show or bring.
Could crown adorn a weaker, brittler core
Than outward form suggests of armored chest
Of thickened steel so made by love before.
I am that which had made a hermit best!

To all of whom I've blamed, and parted love
Forgiveness be, then I to self thereof.

O' blind the sun, and send the blackness far
as I do wither, old like summer leaves
in warm uncertain winds, the wrinkles scar
of seasons gone, as from my youth it thieves.

The night denies the golden mirror's vim
I see all better with my future's sight
that soon my sun will cloak, and rays will dim
I wonder if the stars are souls a-bright?

I eye a starry four, alike my own
and chose a space; the youngest would, above
ah! Take me there, sweet angels to my throne!
That shine I may, unlike my lifeless love.

A spectre in the night, a hopeful end
for here I lost, but there will I ascend!

If love does rule the heart, then love's cruel,
Unhappy masters, whom do give to reap;
At play with players bound to loves' duel
But is love none if not to end in weep?
If all must die, then love's a mortal game
And subject then to laws of ash or dust,
Or give this king a lesser kingdom name
Diminished of the land that hearts entrust.
No! Love is life, to bittersweet the death
And followed blind despite the hewn of scythe
And uttered as it were the lasting breath
As tho' to love, is then to carry with.

Love is to live as tho' it weren't to die
But love there none, then one has lived to lie.

Let view your form now in the mirror's eye
Your words of thought, are none that match to mine
As yours speak blemish, wrinkles, ageing by
But I see true; that youth and glass align.
Reflecting that; of springtime glow of May
Arrays of buds are none when paired to you
And first your glance that welcomes me the day
Were first to shine, whilst sun; the second hue.
Still have you won, 'neath all of nature's lush
A beauty signed your birth with binding deeds
And out the sunset still; your redden blush
As tho' your face onto the sky it feeds

Know now you are as were when years were fresh
Ah, see! The lines have gone from out your flesh.

My heart beats a faithful song
once covered by my sin,
hidden by darkness - buried within
then behold; thine light shined in
'twas there all along.

(Chorus)
I've found thee, I've found thee
O my Lord - my soul to be;
In thy grace, thy warm embrace,
Ever unto thee will be.

I've felt sorrow and despair
in many a darker day
swoon did I, to kneel and pray
then lit beacon, in me to stay,
answered my Lord; my prayer.

I've found thee, I've found thee
O my Lord - my soul to be;
In thy grace, thy warm embrace,
Ever unto thee will be.

Now I view thy splendorous light
in the essence of all I see
a baby's eyes - a beggars' plea
a mourners' tears -  majestic tree
O Lord, thy light so bright.

I've found thee, I've found thee
O my Lord - my soul to be;
In thy grace, thy warm embrace
Ever unto thee will be.

Now I swim in thine river of love
flowing with the currents of faith,
living the words my Lord saith
no more I dwell in wraith
unto thee; within and above.

(Chorus)

(Repeat Chorus, full choir)