Thick, heavy raindrops beat against the window, reflecting the moonbeams as they chased each other down the window pane.
I watched, fixating my gaze on one rivulet at a time as it joined with another, and another, and another.
It was midnight, and I sat wrapped up in a fleece blanket by the window.  The steam rising from my mug mingled with my warm breath. My mind was blank, with only the steady rhythm of rain in the distance.

Standing at Love's window, I wonder
Why I've never been invited in;
I ponder the possibilities .....
Soon glorious fantasies begin

Is it true that roses smell sweeter
When Love gently caresses their stem?
I've heard that birds sing most splendidly
When Love is the purpose guiding them

And they say Love can revive a heart
That has withered like a dying flower;
O, the stories I've heard about Love ......
Its gentleness and its furious power

Even a heart that's grown weak and tired,
Fraught with ashes where once there was fire,
Even for that heart there's still a chance
To rekindle Love's blazing desire

But the years pass, and I've yet to know
If the things they say of Love are true:
That first union within Eden's gates!
The ecstasy angels never knew!

Yes, Love has quite the reputation
For bringing joy where sorrow has been;
But I wouldn't know - that's what I've heard,
I'm on the outside ...... looking in

Art speaks words unheard,
   The feelings paints pictures unseen.
       It is beauty and drastic ideas combined
      A mix of pleasure and pain
      All experiences add a different taste
        Rough edges and smoothness entwined.
Touch it and fall into a dream
The artist lived and lives within.

In a second
I experienced the life
sweet and sour.