She says she is too short
Will have to stand on stool
To kiss my lips

She says her afflictions
Different only in that
They are all too great

She says I can find
A better edition
Of any year I choose

That all the combinations
In searing truth
Are just to much to take

It's this , then that
And all of the rest
She say's I should detest

But when
I hold her in my arms
I know I found my place

I see the River made of time
And water
And remember that time is
A fork of rivers,
And I know we are like that river;
Dissolution into an ocean of souls.
I see the bleak nature of my mind,
Natural as it is,
I wish to break from this line of thought:

    To be aware in my dreams,
    And to know the fear
    That we call death is but
    Another sleep into another dream.
    To be in the here of the now,
    To rage against the days
    Into the passion of my life
    And celebrate every breath I take.

To find the sorrowful gold
Which is poetry,
Immortal fire of my soul
And rain the embers of words
Upon the page like the
Thunder and lightning in a
Sudden storm.

    To love once again,
    Feel her essence over me,
    As if her body hovers
    Just above me as to feel
    Her electrical current run
    Through every cell that feels.
    
And I know time is a river,
One that never ends,
It shimmers with every
Memory one ever makes,
And every drop is a life the
Soul partakes,
We are born again
Where the river begins.

~
Slow Streams, Heavy
Can't drag
Bush, dead rotten roots
Broke out at the end of

Black Clouds violent air
Wants to take the lead at advancing
Dancing up the Stoic waves
In the Songs of end evening

Floating Nyctanthes of morning
In the intangible afternoon want to be lost
Find for whom broken heart
Behind returned to

Songs of time
Untimely rainy day, huff
With it, you have to compose verses
It's worth, words of divine

I just wait for the time of your
Take it to Search within any forms
Remaining is not a romantic anticipation
No, not even in the rainy Song

Come with the dusts of wind
Ah! that grew an immortal Span of Pilgrimage
Drops with Drops made love
Come out of the way during the wild chariot

Oh, Going back to !
Slowly goes with the dreams
In the rhythms of falls, rhymes of poetry
Elusive in the Songs of end evening
~