Every moment, concentration,
every breath is dignity
Shaping,
  Molding,
    Moving,
      Flying.
Life is folding little creases
til a newborn crane is formed.
Flying,
  Floating,
    Falling,
      Dying.
Like a thousand paper cranes
Someday, I will find
My favorite version of myself.

you saw something that wasn't there,
  and you loved something that wasn't whole.
because you wanted nothing for your pleasure,
  and everything for mine.

A peculiar feeling,
it wasn't quite joy,
but rather, amusement.
Still, it was a smile,
a smile in spite of himself,
in spite of his aching self.

And there,
  beneath my umbrella,
    a puddle formed.
      Tears and rain mingled,
        a stream formed and
          sped toward the storm drain,
            never to be distinguishable again.

his gaze could not be lifted
  his eyes were hid in shame.
he did not think his sight deserved
  the kindness of her frame.
she touched his chin with soft caress
  and lifted up his face.
eye to eye they stood, entranced.
  shame fled, without a trace.

How sweetly sings the lark for hidden Spring
And opens up a path for her to tread;
That with a song or melody doth bring
A single flower, delicate and red.

As dew bedazzles shoots of em'rald grass,
The greedy earth doth quench its endless thirst.
The sun transforms the mountains, black to brass,
And stirs the world from Winter's spell accursed.

The dull and hardened earth that slumbers here
Shall reminisce of warm and kinder days;
And thus commence the deed of every year:
The blossoming of Spring's all-loving gaze.

And thus, upon a soul Spring makes her sign:
A heart from which her love and beauty shine.

When I look in the mirror
I see only a sneer,
A hardened mask void of weakness.
But beneath the veneer
A child appears
Afraid of the darkness in here.

I was startled from my thoughts today
By a frightening thing on the wall
That looked so twisted and gnarled and dark
I hardly knew it at all.
Then it dawned on me -
'Twas a familiar complexion.
"That's a rather ugly face you're making,"
I said to my reflection.

My heart is not composed of stone,
It's made of flint and steel.
Instead of dead weight in my chest,
It's fire that I feel.

The earth is the sky,
And like the fair blue
Expanse of the air,
So is the sea's hue.
As I swam in the deep,
Through the cool air I flew.
And the stars 'gainst the black,
Are flowers' petals and dew.

When I walk on the earth
And gaze up at the sky bare,
All I can think:
"Is up indeed, there?"
Perhaps all that I thought
Was as front as the rear.
Perhaps the sky is the earth,
And up there is down here!

But I look at the sky
As a deep rooted tree.
From down here,
Perhaps all is not easy to see.
Perspective is fleeting,
And thought is not free.
As I walk on the earth,
So the sky walks on me!

Though I the one the arrow pierced,
  we both displayed the symptom:
You, the one that plunged the blade,
  and I, your willing victim.
A madness, hence, burned in our blood;
  no draught could quench the fever.
A trick so cunningly conceived,
  'twould swindle the Deceiver.
This double blade, this binding act,
  for which we cry, "we must!"
A crop both yielding grief and bliss:
  the double-edge of Lust.