The poet was particularly interested in language. He did not care much for what the reader might see in his writing. All that mattered was the puzzle of combining words, the challenge of creating syntax that touched his soul, and the creation of beauty with inspiring phrases. The process of fitting each linguistic piece together is what fueled his passion and what made him feel alive. Absorbed in his musings, he would forget his hunger and thirst, and lose track of time, so great was his love for language.

Since the art of language had always been his main focus, the lessons within his writing were no more than a side effect that might or might not affect the reader. Yet, because the poet did not put focus on what others might think of his work, the result was that his writing was genuine and pure. He wrote what he believed to be true, while encasing it with delicate but brilliant words that came from his heart. And, despite getting lost inside his mind while writing thusly, his carefully constructed prose did also move the hearts of his peers. For not only do poets construct such writings lovingly, they themselves also delight in reading well crafted literature.

Cycles of life fill the world
and they amaze me
time and time again,
yet I cannot escape my own,
trapped as I am in a
continuously changing body.

My mind struggles with
the acceptance of my pain,
the necessity of the frustration,
knowing it will all return
until the final cycle wanes,
and till then I'll suffer.

I wish mine could be
as beautiful as the seasons,
but it is just an ugly mess.

My ears used to cry for peace and quiet,
but now they yearn
for the sweet caress of your voice.

Your words are a soft blanket,
and when they reach my ears
I am covered in warmth and comfort.

Your laugh is cheerful music
and when it reaches my ears
my spirits are gently lifted.

Your affectionate tone of voice calms my soul,
and I gladly listen to anything you say.

This distance is irrelevant, be it near or far;
I feel complete anyhow, no matter where we are.
Your existence is my wholesomeness, my entire life;
without you I'm meaningless, I wouldn't feel alive.

Time is a fleeting thing, yet, with you, anything but;
all moments seem to be timeless, nothing's left untouched.
I know fulfillment now, and I never did before;
your presence ensures my soul no longer yearns for more.

The struggle against the current,
I never realised it was futile
until the moment I turned around
and looked over the edge
of the waterfall right behind me.

So I let go and gave in,
as the water gently pushed me along
straight into your waiting arms,
open, warm, and inviting.

Imagine my surprise
when I found you at the bottom.

I felt a connection, I opened up
as you seemed to be different,
but you told me you weren't
a typical male one too many times;
the shine slowly faded.

The deep connection was superficial
but love still makes blind and I didn't see,
swept away by the waves of my imagination
showing me what could have been.

Your actions betrayed your words,
you said you didn't mean to,
but you were the moon, I was the tide,
pulled in and pushed away,
unknowingly part of a game
that I didn't understand.

I fell for your act but how easy it is
to not fall for who you really are
but let you go instead, and yet,
I don't grieve for losing you,
because you've always been fake.

I only grieve for a lost pleasant dream.

There is only restlessness
'cause I want to move forward,
alas, I am limited
by the hours in the day.

Meanwhile I drown in chaos
as thoughts jumble together
and I struggle endlessly
lest they will drag me astray.

Deep inside my soul worries,
a tiny spark crying out,
can our body survive this
or will we both fade away?