there's a picture on a shelf
of a former self

stuck between two stacks of books
looking for all the world
like myself

with no one else beside me
somewhere on a highway
going my way

hair and sand in the wind
sun in my eyes

looking free.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
You are always in my head
But you have no clue.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue;          
I'm still here lying on my bed
Thinking of you.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
Dreaming for us to be wed,
Is there a chance for me and you?

A fair teacher
is a Tree..
All at once
appears my branching
splitting
bifurcating
seeming to claim
differentiating
with shadow
with pain..
Our separate selves
these branches mimic..
Yet our teacher
insists in haste
branches are coloring
my inner vibrating
look anew!
see me whole
and be my Joy...