i've found myself swerving off the road when the sun is setting.
when splashes of orange, pink, yellow spray across the summer sky my eyes wander away from the road and i'm lost in the color.
i've risked my life just to catch a glimpse of heaven's painting, and i think that's how it is every time i look at you.
i chase sunsets like i chase you,
always wanting to see more of you and not being able to stop myself.
you're as beautiful as a sunset,
and i'll keep chasing you until i crash.

i.

wildness of white,
uncanny strangeness,
calm sea...melting
moon of mahogany.

ii.

silver dish of the sky,
lost kingdoms,
the lonely isles of
the sky...

iii.

the moon like
monet-marble,

see the moon rise
like a secret flower
of summer buds.

iv.

as if the sky mirrored
the reflection of the
lake, full to the brim
until each falls into
the other, sky of lake,
lake of sky, gathered.

You see, as the wind blows upon the seas of Ireland,
The mind of the solution sprays upon the land,
notice how the heart and soul of the rains,
and how the emotional rhythm goes hand in hand,
I often can't help but see how the sky goes cold but that
only makes you warmer inside,
and the cozy emotional phenomena
reveals the rains mind it will hide.

There’s just one moon for you
But countless stars to shine on you
The heavens they will dance for you
And the sun will rise and set for you

The wind will blow so strong for you
The tide will ebb and flow for you
The skies will turn to blue for you
And birds will sing a song for you

The fog will lift its veil for you
The sands of time will flow for you
The leaves will grow and fall for you
And I will live and die for you

feeling alive feels like
yellow flowers growing in my bones
and blooming on my skin
it feels like the sun rises
not in the east
but from within me

Abused
by the torturous Suns heat
That beats
and burns
my fragile bare feet
Short distance, now miles to come
with dried up lungs
from unforgiving Sun
Twinkles of first starlight,
a warning to hide
for cowerdly Sun,
the Moon is to arise
Wrapping its blanket of energy
gently around what yearns
for the nocturnal healer
to soothe Earth from it's burns

that sweet orange glow envelops me
as it starts to sing its swan song
but the night is never too kind
for the sunset never gets to finish
and its song remains unsung

however, i do not panic; i do not fret
i know that the sun will have another chance
tomorrow, it will try again
it will sing and it will sing for all its worth

be that sunset
remain vigilant and tireless
sing despite the heavens' determination
to **** your voice,
sing for them as a song so beautiful
the night will remain asleep
and darkness cannot overcome you

I woke for wonder, but hardly was,
Accustomed to the rays,
Of fierce, majestic Nature,
Her dazzling displays,

I queried quiet why I had not,
Facility to perceive,
The multitudes of Beauty,
In which the Saints believe,

And so, as babe, with awestruck eye,
I strode in to the festering view,
Of manifesting Nature, and I wake
To watch the world in bloom.

Tiny feathers.
Of black, white,
and softest brown.
Tiny wings fluttering.
With quiet sound.
Loud voice.
Of sweetest song.
Which can be heard.
From miles around.
"Swee, swee,"
calls the chickadee.
Handcrafted by God above,
the little chickadee
is a tiny miracle.
Of His love.