I could so easily
become a Hermit.
Push the World away,
shed obligation,
Never Truly touch
another Human.

But I am burdened
with Duty.
I am Cursed
to Care.

I have a confession to make
And it won't be clear  
Or even wise for that matter  
But I was there  

My eyes saw what they saw
I knew they would tear    
And I swore it nothing new  
But no one was near

I saw what I saw
but now I am here
And yet I still wonder
If I'm ever really here  

I guess the skies
were never as clear
At least In this disguise
I am *sincere

is it silly to write you a poem
when we've never kissed,
when we've never spoken,
when we've never met?
is it silly to tell you that i love you
when i don't even know
if i'll ever know you?
is it silly to want you,
to crave you, to say that i miss you?
is it silly that i can't write these verses
without wanting to cry, wanting to mourn
the loss of someone i never had?
is it silly to think that one day
i'll show you these words
and you'll smile when you
think at how things turned out?
is it silly to believe that i won't be alone?

we are poems.
beautifully written,
wonderfully designed;
marvelous works of art.
we are written with
starlight and wonder,
with verses of beauty
written across our hearts.
we are walking rhymes,
walking wonders,
walking words that tell
stories of freedom
and redemption.
we are poetry,
we are songs,
we are melodies
that are sung on
bright days.
we are the words of grace,
we are the words unforgotten,
we are words that remain.

i want to be
the stars in your sky
and the sun rays
that shine on
your face
and maybe even be
the air
in your lungs
and i want to
be one of the reasons
why you smile
why you wake up
and want to be more
than who you are
and i want
to be the soundtrack
to your happy days
and i want to
make you feel
things you've never
felt before
and i want to
maybe even
own a little
piece of your
heart.

your wild hair
is just a little
glimpse of who
you are,
it tells me
that your heart
and your dreams
and soul
are just as wild
as those locks
of yours
you are lovely
and free
and brave
and
your heart finds
life in color
and boldness
and who you are,
wildflower,
makes you beautiful.

i have found what you are like
the rain,

            (Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
                                  with thinned

newfragile yellows

                      lurch and.press

—in the woods
                      which
                              stutter
                                        and

                                              sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
                  your kiss