White-furred hill flowers bow
Gust-bent,
Wet in April snow,
Lavender beneath their
Downy coats.

Tender soldiers of spring
Grasp wind-blown gravel steeps,
Stand to beckon brown grass,
Soft-call the life in sapless trees
To ring with green again
Against Old Bully Winter’s
Blustering.

Quaking aspens,
Earliest to leaf in yellow-green,
Curling grama grasses,
Tough food for buffalo,
Cannot boast first life each Montana spring;
Only zombie-lichens,
Rock-fast mosses
Throw off winter’s death
Before the crocus' rise.

On eastern Montana hills
No street-hemmed dandelions
Colonize in chute-dropped ranks;
No time-tamed tulips
Live on wind-round knolls.

Here, the yucca’s bayonet-sharp ******;
Here, the wild onions’ scent-strong hold;
But these arrive after early chill,
Following the purple crocus on the hill.

there's code breakers
and there are code breakers
some can read
the code well
whilst others
can't work out
the code's ring of bells

to decipher
the dots and dashes
an expert in the field
has not an ounce of trouble
the sequence reads
to him/her
as clearly as a line
on a graph
yet to the untrained
code breaker
the sequence can be
perplexing
and so confounding
a code takes time
to grasp
and hours
of study

the code of love
is the most difficult
one to read
the telegraph of dots and dashes
have a definite sequence
to how they read
love's code
has baffled
since the dawning
of time
ciphering it doth vex the mind

Is it just me, or is everything regarding love unbearably intense?
No matter which end of its spectrum you take a look at,
you're left in a daze
Whether dealing with crippling heartbreak
or a rush of sweet endearment,
it's up to you to find a way through the labyrinth.
There's just so much emotion that can course through
your  veins,
your  mind
your  heart  and  soul
it's hard to grasp the reality of the concept
that gravity is ever present
but still every
single
one
of
us
falls.
And yet
we embrace it.
This love that we find
and manage to scrounge up
into existence
and for some unknown reason
hope that it's reciprocated
because
what is love
if we are not loved?
With love,
it's not common that you see someone
unconditionally loving another
without wishing
wanting
dreaming
hoping
that they love them in return
but in many cases
the hope is all for naught.
Even in the midst of dangerous waves of rejection,
we force ourselves to believe
that somehow, some day
our efforts will be successful
that we will find the one,
that special someone
with whom we can spend the rest of our days with.
The fact that we all feel incomplete
and struggle about in the darkness
without some form of it,
that our structure
our frame of consciousness
has no stability without it,
the fact of the matter is that
it could very well be the epicenter of everything we do
and that to me is so incredibly intense.
We force ourselves to believe that it will all be worth it.
Because it is worth it.
Love is worth the intensity,
whether I can grasp that concept or not.

It's easy to write about stuff everyone feels
The things a crowd likes to hear
What's hard is writing what isn't popular or 'nice'
Where some might think some restraint would suffice
But it's things that are needed that save the souls
And words go unheeded that don't nourish the bones
Don't tell them what they want to hear
Give them the things they don't often feel
Tell them they're wrong when you can do it with love
Because they just don't hear straight truth enough.