it is a house of refuge
a place where you can
run away.
a shelter against
the cold winds of life.
a yellow umbrella
for when it rains.
like the flower fields
during spring,  
a little niche
in an overwhelming world.
a secure spot
where your heart
can be at peace.
it is where
your brokenness shatters.
but also where it is pieced
back together
in the form
of simple words.
it is a blank page
and a pen in hand
and the fervent hope
that your prayers
will be heard.

its an attempt to transcend
to stretch and go beyond
your skin.

its an affliction you hate
or befriend.

Poets and poetry is your end.
Its a constant restarting
Always a beginning, again...

the start of poetry
a flexing of wings.

i'm tired of watching you go.
you ghost right past me
and forget all the love we shared.
i become nothing but your past
and you become someone
who i can never see again.
but then you return and
the heavy rain lightens for a bit,
i might even glimpse the sun.
but we both know it'll end
and the cycle will repeat itself.

I miss you in the morning, love
when the world is bright and new...
but that world will bring no joy,
because it brings no you.

I miss you in the daytime, love
where the sun beats heavy and hot...
but how can I find happiness there,
in a place where you are not?

I miss you in the evening, love
when darkness consumes the light...
and yet I see no pleasure in this,
because you're nowhere in sight.

I miss you in the mid-night, love
as the moon's silver light beams...
cold and alone I drift off to sleep,
and still, I miss you in my dreams~

Not everything sad
is worth writing for,
nor funny nor happy nor good.
Yet still, I would write
everything in my life
if only, if only, I could.

Write down why you love me and tie it to a balloon
Because when I reach you it will be there on time
And never a moment to soon

Can you imagine where it will go?
I see a planet full of space and time unknown
Maybe a place so hot
But just enough snow

Too many places to see
And never enough ways to show

Our love
Reaches greater lengths
than just your back bedroom.
Seen above
And over the moon
Our space love
Is bigger than me and you
But all I could ever ask for
In our wonderful spacious views

If all is meant to be
This wonderful atmospheric breeze
Will guide your love
And bring it to me

Every cold wind that blows
Will not be a disappointment
Only chances to find fulfillment

this is the garden:colours come and go,
frail azures fluttering from night’s outer wing
strong silent greens silently lingering,
absolute lights like baths of golden snow.
This is the garden:pursed lips do blow
upon cool flutes within wide glooms,and sing
(of harps celestial to the quivering string)
invisible faces hauntingly and slow.

This is the garden. Time shall surely reap
and on Death’s blade lie many a flower curled,
in other lands where other songs be sung;
yet stand They here enraptured,as among
the slow deep trees perpetual of sleep
some silver-fingered fountain steals the world.