What loveliness there is to an ink,
Such that it may record our innermost
Thoughts however we choose to lay them
Out.
                                                                                                                 With love
Whether in print, or in cursive,
Without regard to a font
the medium will maintain what is written.
                                                                                                            Ringing out
Writing, the pouring out of
One's feelings is
by far
the second loveliest form of
Therapy.
                                                                                                          *You are first.

I send my mind through
A whirlwind
A spiral.
The words pour out
Torrential, they cause a sort of
Fear that when the mind does steer
I might falter, might fall.
But I do not lose hope,
I do not give in,
I control.
I gather my skill,
Gather tools of my trade.
That wit may stay with me is
My only wish, so that I might be able
To fuel my mind with love.
With wonder, I feel
That I might
Someday
Gather hope.

I sat next to a man on the bus
Who wore a face so desperate,
He gave a short fuss
But then sat quietly for a bit.

I asked him his name
And he looked in my eyes,
He's limbs almost lame
His face filled with surprise.

"I come from no place,
No title's my own.
My heart strikes a pace
So fast, so alone."

It was at that he wept
The wet drops on the ground;
In those tears he had kept
A love both terrible and sound.

He left at his stop
Though he paused at the top,
"Thank you for your ear,
You've relinquished my fear.
So I bid you good day,
Thank you for your stay."

My mind is ablaze
With that's around me,
It's almost a daze
To be so cherished you see.

I'm glad that my words
Do reach joyous ears,
Songs grander than birds
Could not push out my fears

As well as you friends.
So thank you all kindly,
My heart you do mend,
And you do help me to see

That these words can be enjoyed by people,
For me these words are one of my only steeples.

A spider on the wall
Says to crawl,
To leave this place
An empty space
That fills the void
Of my disgrace.
But I turn my head,
The sound of dread
Floods my ears,
My worst of fears
Now realized.

I now know that
The words are a mat
To step on and desecrate,
So very similar this hate,
This bait.
The voice falls flat
On it's face.
"Second rate" is the term
That so quickly erased
Me. So now I squirm
To avoid that race,
So I may take my leave.

Could we reach such sweet perfection?
One with no rejection?
A bond of pure acceptance,
A rush with no reluctance?
Have we reached such sweet perfection,
That our acceptance knows of no exception?
My love so sweetly do we talk
That I know no topic should make me balk.
Why yes we've reached such sound perfection
That even the birds songs are poor reflection
Of our lovely words that sing introspection
Of the heart, true loves resurrection.

Feel the ground shake underneath,
Pulse as your mind moves with your feet.
Walk to the wall and begin to climb,
You will find it easier with time.

Talk at the grass that moves with the wind
And know it grabs the message you send.
Cast the seeds at your feet to move it with the sound,
Know your time is kind while you walk this ground.

Know your time is kind while you walk this ground,
Cast the seeds at your feet to move it with the sound
And know it grabs the message you send,
Talk at the grass that moves with the wind.
You'll find it easier with time.

Walk to the wall and begin to climb,
Pulse as your mind moves with your feet,
Feel the ground shake underneath.