Even if I were to study Kinesiology,
it couldn't give me the slightest hint
as to why you move, the way you do.

I could listen to a sub woofer's bass,
and it still couldn't give me a trace
of the things that make you
feel alive.

And even with scissors,
I could never cut out
from a cloth
just why you are the way you are.

The patch cord that you play with
amps up the sounds I hear,
and yet I could not ever
hear a single tear.

To me you are a subway station,
busying about, seeing me there
but not seeing me clear
A small blur, in the corner of your eye

To you, I am there then gone again
But to ignore you? I couldn't even pretend.

My rose is not just any rose,
It is very special, one-of-a-kind.
The keeper of the vase on my window sill

The lily that I found,
So beautiful, so delicate, so pure,
So unbelievably uncorrupt,
I couldn't pick it.
My fingers I fear,
Wouldn't fail to wither it.

See, my rose has thorns,
a tough outer layer.
The lily is so soft,
So delicate,
I couldn't risk the chance.
So I offer just one last glance.

I will leave the lily where it grows,
To dodge my trowel, and those of others.
Until it finds the tenderness of real love
to pick it from its lonely plot of soil.
Where it will sit on someone's window sill,
in a vase, thriving in all the spoils.

I have a flower, in a vase, sitting on my window sill
There are no other flowers on my window sill
        Just a rose.
This rose is special,
It hasn't died since I picked it.

The life of this rose depends on me.
No other flowers can exist on my window sill,
No other flowers can fit in the vase.
Just that flower, in that vase, on my window sill.

Walking through a garden, I see another flower.
Better than the rose in some ways,
but not in others.
      This flower is a lily.
My heart immediatly begins to tear in two.

So now I face a dilema.
Pick the lily, or let it die.
Keep the rose, or let it die.
Either way, one must die.
And I am stuck between two beauties.
I need a flower, in a vase, on my window sill.

So I delve deep.
I think broadly.
I remember something.
My favorite flower is an orchid.
I have a feeling my orchid is in a distant garden,
waiting to be picked --
       by me.
This orchid will be
My flower, in my vase, on my window sill.

And so I can live with the outcome of the lily
      or the rose
And I just hope they don't die
that someone else's favorite flower
     is a lily
     or a rose.
Because I know that something is going to happen
that will bring me closer to my favorite flower.
So I must be patient.
And just wait for
My perfect flower, in my perfect vase, on my window sill

You are my dream; you are my wish, my sun –
You shine like hope, and I need that today—
You are my only, it’s to you I run,
When skies are grey, illuminate my way.
I don’t think you know, you are very rare,
Dear, my love grows with every breath I take,
You are unaware of how much I care,
A reason to live is what you will make.
So please don’t close your eyes, I’m always here,
Don’t take my sun away, just keep shining –
Now that you’re here, there is nothing to fear,
So now I must ask something defining.
Why don’t you spend forever just with me?
The sun shall never set upon our tree.

Her tail flicks with irritation,
Her bed is under occupation.
She lets out a quiet meow,
and begins the prowl.

Her cat bed has been conquered,
her feline smell obscured.
She advances on silent paws,
and stirs up a cloud of claws.

Perhaps the name 'Fluffy'
does not fit her.

Sun fought on to keep the onslaught back,
Night smiled and sent his wispy minion,
who then cascaded down from the heavens,
covering all the land.

Weak beams tried to pry open the sky,
and take back Sun's rightful place.
Grey fog creeped into the scene,
and thwarted all hopes of escape.

Not all stories end happily.
Sun's rays were beaten and retired.
Fog thickened in triumph.
Night paraded in early.

The fog welcomed in the Night,
and the Night laughed at the Sun.

Oceans try to swallow our new phoenix,
Drown the fire we have created anew.
The waves now become our biggest critics,
So we bide our time, await our debut.
The people talk, as they are wont to do.
We hide our fire inside a secret place.
We keep our feelings purposely askew.
We are not ripe, the world we cannot face.
Time takes a stab at stabbing what we have,
Fate encourages us to wonder. Seek.
We get caught in the middle, half and half,
Yet I know we are beautif’ly unique.
Some things you just leave to Time and to Fate,
But some things are too special to dictate