Our
                        Whole
                         Lives
                         Are made
                         Of blades.
                         We couldn't
                        Live without
                        Them. It's the
                        Sharpened steel
                        Doctors us to bring
                        Us into our life.
                        It's the cool metal
                        That cuts the
                        Wood to build
                        Our homes.
                        We taunt with
blades keeping such deadly weapons in our homes. To cut our food, and groom our faces. But the greatest irony      
                 comes from life itself,
                for the very blades we
                     Use to protect and
                       Keep our life,
                     Turned around
                     Destroy our very
                     Being and cause
                    Our lives to bleed
                 From the fatal wound
                      Making the end  
           Harmonize with the beginning

the color of her lipstick
the color of the alleyway
the color of his knuckles when she showed signs of struggle
the color of the pavement
the color of the ambulance light
the color of her maternity dress
the color of her baby's hair
the color of the roses they set beside her coffin

she saw red--
                        the color of Love.

I am the fire shining bright in your hands
the water which quenched your thirst
the earth you adore
the air you breath.

You need me.

I am the fire setting you ablaze
the water in which you drown
the earth which crushes you
the air stinging on your wounds.

**You adored me.

I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart
  To love and not to love.
Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart
  Into Thy shrine, which is above,
Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care
  For this mine ill?--
I love thee here or there,
  I will accept thy broken heart, lie still.

Lord, it was well with me in time gone by
  That cometh not again,
When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I?
  I fresh, I cheerful: worn with pain
Now, out of sight and out of heart;
  O Lord, how long?--
I watch thee as thou art,
  I will accept thy fainting heart, be strong.

"Lie still," "be strong," to-day; but, Lord, to-morrow,
  What of to-morrow, Lord?
Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow,
  Be living green upon the sward
Now but a barren grave to me,
  Be joy for sorrow?--
Did I not die for thee?
  Do I not live for thee? leave Me to-morrow.

They think that it's right

To ****** day and night

And still be forgiven for their sins

It's time they met their lord

'Greet the longest sharpest sword

At the place where eternity begins

To all those who are love-sick:
Some cry, I want love; I need love!
I am loveless; pity on me;
Love me, love me, love me
PLEASE!
Oh dear, why don’t you see!
Your eyes are closed to it.
Love is a breeze:
It moves the trees, sometimes just the leaves.
It can create waves in the ocean.
Love is whimsical and deep.

What will you give to your lover?
Do you possess a moonstone or stardust?
Have you planted a thousand roses?
Have you mapped the earth
To take your lover
On a journey full of mirth?

No—
I don’t have a moonstone,
nor do I have stardust.
I am poor but have roses and flowers
in all colors.

I will be kind to her limbs.
I can fill her life with passion.
Her organs will thank mine.
Her eyes will peck at mine.
Her hairs I will brush,
Igniting the passion in her soul,
Her vale merging with my knoll,
A hummock
just for her pleasures,
ever waiting, ever desiring.

Your lover is there—
look, look, O young lover!
She is standing right behind you.

When will he make her an offer?
When will he be
on the horse
with a ring?