A blush
the tell tale sign,
of feelings held
deep inside.

A stolen glance
a longing look,
to the one in front of you
as they walk away.

The reckless thoughts
of a mind impassioned,
the path chosen
perhaps not by choice.

But who would
choose to betrothe
one's heart to another.

Are not all attachments
accompanied by pain, sorrow,
heartbreak and betrayal?

Only the bravest and
most brazen of us dare
face the plunge of fate
that we call love.

However gently, be it in a letter
or conversation.
When the words of rejection fade,
all that is left is the sting.
Despite your efforts, aspirations,
dreams, hopes, even the way you feel.
The knowledge of being spurned cuts
deeper than any broadsword, cutlass or saber.
Along with that person you lose your
desire to change or grow.
You wish everything to remain the same
as before, hoping by some miracle, he
will return.
Then your mind returns to reality
and all that is left is the sting.

Who will create tomorrow?
Is it the leaders of today?
The ones who reach, posses
Overachieve?

Is it the dreamers
For whom the beauty of imagination
Is what springs hope for the future.

Is it the followers?
The ones who believe in
Others ambitions and dreams?

Is it the pessimists?
Those who treed on
The hopes, dreams and
achievements of others?

Who do you think it is?

Perfection comes in many forms,
Trees that grow crooked,
leaves with veins, cracks and spots.
The flower who's petals arent
the right shade to be considered suitable.
A boy with one green eye and one blue.
If you look closely you can see,
what some would call an anomaly.
But what some would deem a flaw
I see as Perfection.
To me you were just that,
Perfection with the flaws of life.


11/15/10

The pursuit of tomorrow starts with the dreams of today
a breath of anticipation, a glance of hope.
the squeeze of a hand letting you know regardless
of outcome, I will be there for you.

I will never regret loving you,
but I will always regret losing you.
I will not regret the countless letters,
but I will regret the memory of them.

The Unregrettable part about regrets,
is that at one point, the thing we now regret,
was the one thing we wanted most.



*11/14/2010

Love tis not a thing,
bound by time or space.

You cannot send it away,
nor invite it in.

It is not coached,
nor guided by a map.

It can grip the soul,
with fear or hope.

Sleepless nights,
full of anguish and tears,
are its furthest friends,
and closest enemies.

Yet dreams of "could be",
spur it onward.

It conquers that which,
none other can.

Death, Time, Pain,
Love is the healer of all.

JCM 2009