We say I love you
A thousand different times
But so much more is said
When your eyes meet mine

But I love him.

Yet you are so unhappy.

But I love him.

Yet you cry all the time.

But I love him.

Yet you miss so many flowers in your path, lost in sadness.

But I love him.

Yet you don’t feel loved.

But I love him.

Yet you don’t feel fulfilled.

But I love him.

Tell me, what does love mean to you?

To need someone so much.

Need and love are not the same.

To want to be with someone all the time.

That is not love, that is desire.

To want them so badly, naked in my arms.

That is not love, that is attraction.

To miss someone so much.

That is not love, that is loneliness.

To get so angry thinking of them with someone else.

That is not love, that is jealousy.

To know that this is the only person that can make me happy.

And yet you are not happy.

To feel so afraid of losing someone.

That is not love, that is fear.

Then what is love?

Love is wanting what’s best for another, even if that is not being with you.

I do not feel that way, I want him with me.

Love is an appreciation for someone as they are with no need or desire to change them.

I do not feel that way, there are things he should change.

Love is an open, brilliant energy that transcends time, that is present always and that needs nothing in return.

I don’t have that for him.

Perhaps you are not in love.

It seems that I am not.

What are you then?

I am in need, I am afraid, I am lonely and I'm directing it at him.

And?

And so it is not love.

Are you sure?

Yes.  Now I am. Quite.

Then, your journey can begin.

It was late and I was starving
So I gorged myself on you

Now you're gone and I'm still hungry
What am I to do?

As a boy I pushed time
Wanted the next step
Growing I began to wander the chronological path with weary
Seeing misfortune ahead
Soon I began to fight time pulling back
Seeing the once warm welcoming beacon,  become a warning
I struggle

Alas time had no feeling
It trudges independent of superfluous wants
A requiem of life lived
A glorious picture of futures
Here I sit
In the supreme present

When Light craved your soul to see in kissing colors
as the evening envisioned to die in the dawn of depth,
when Soul lustered for learning, as blood bespoke to her bones
for building the star of flesh, when Time needed the resentment
of its ubiquity to be understood. The moment texture lured touch to
tease with a thousand sensations, when the labor of love sought a language
to express the extremes of its lips, as romance raged through the ravishing of
hardened hearts, when sorrow’s seduction made heroes of loving men and women.

When Justice is seduced to her innocent words,
as bravery battled the basic questions of conquest,
war demands a metaphor in the terror of its destruction,
as Faith finds resolutions to her problems in seconds,
Death wallows for relief and Life’s supercilious meaning upon its skyline.
When God wanted imagination to invent immaculate existence…
Poetry began, born as an eternal being,
because, the only vow of a Poet, is Passion!