Every time we're face to face
You make my heart race.
And even though this thing is new
I hope to spend a while with you.

Your kind words flow so well
They make my heart swell.
And even though I try to write
The words just don't sound quite right.

Oh how I've missed the sound
Of your laugh and voice around.
The short time we've been able to spend
Has been so great - I don't want it to end.

You see, if I were a tiny tree
You'd be the rain
That would wash away all my pain.

Along with helping me (the tree) grow-
You'd make me whole
Just like
you've awakened my soul.

How could I not be grateful enough?

For all those disgraceful sins have I conducted,
For all those infamy moments have I omitted you,
For all those ignominy of seconds, of minutes, of hours,
that have I excluded your presence,

I should not count, for
the enumeration of them itself is not,
commonsensible.

Yet, you gave me everything that I wanted, dying for.

Oh God,
How could I not be grateful enough?

You left her
                                                 There.
        And she stayed.
        And all alone she sat
        All the way over
                                                  There.
   ­     And no one over
Here
         Ever noticed when
         The girl over
                                                   There
         Started to
                              F
                                ­ a
                                    l
                         ­              l
         When she went  S p l a t
          No one
Here
          Noticed.
          No one saw
          Because the girl over
                                                   There
           Landed over
                                                    There
  ­          After the
                              F
                             ­    a
                                    l
                         ­              l

He left with the passing time
no farewells offered
no heartfelt backward glance
his footfalls ticking seconds
echoing in the Sunday parlours of the righteous he despised

He left with the passing time
no one mourned,no tears were shed
His sacred, bleeding heart
now but a tattooed image
on the chests of the dejected

He left with the passing time
on whispers of myths
and suspected tall tales
doubting his own truth
despising the lie of his creation

He left with the passing time
while pious mice sang of his glory
behind the battlements of faith
as the wars of the wicked raged in his name

He left with the passing time
while mothers wailed at shaken babes
and the disappeared sang from **** choked graves

He left with the passing time
as society shunned his brand
and drunken feet  danced lasciviously on his moral high ground

He left, with the passing time...