You heart the moon and the guiding star
You tread across the earth and universe.
You forgive all wounds and heal scars
You read me through the bountiful verses.

You wear new masks, all over again
You writ at dusk and writhe in dust;
Your flesh warms up all over you,
Your love is dark, but honest and true.

Your life is but a whole drama and roses
And the actors you love but cannot kiss.
For your love awaits thee in the northern light,
The one who writs and oft’ stirs at night.

Your heart is but a touch of prose
And your rose has the perfume of a story;
When but many have left and got lost
You shall stay still, and wait for me.

Your love is but a touch of poetic gold
That has not the reason not to hold;
Your veins have a frantic beating
Awaiting for their lover’s steps, singing.

You must not cry for what has gone
For what is lost was an impediment;
You feel it too deeply on your own,
That all is handsome in your linen heaven.

You must not pine for what is lost
For misery does not live to linger,
For her heart is too common to your prose
That they better not live forever.

You must not want to feel those tears
They are distant that they shall not hear,
For if they know, they shan’t listen to you
T’is world is never meant for one like you.

You must not hark to the worldly sayings;
Let them madden and be cheated and die,
For a boneless excuse that has been a lie,
When they were truth not, those dying!

You are one childish soul sweet and meek,
A fateful soul I shall swear to withstand;
The one the sun hates in its dying week,
The one the evil ne’er befriends.

You are one gleaming sign of love,
Being that, your smile is all I dream of;
If the world were all that it seems
Then I could have my reason to stay in dreams.

You are the bird in the high garden hall
That keeps its nest and sings by the wall.
You are the song beneath the green valley
Adored and admired by their white lilies.

You are the forest’s eastern spark
That shines in between the western dark.
You are the lovely ecstatic little rose
Who spills rain and delicate water prose.

You are the flesh of the barren May
The fair bride to be crowned a happy day;
You are the cheerful soil of summer nights,
The toil that make green grass bright.

You are the clouds of the iron skies
That lend truth to their painted lies,
You are the kiss within the rugged tales
I have fallen in love with your drowsy spell.

You are the poet and the fantasy
That lie naively as a human to me;
At night atop the barn on the far hill
I can sense how you hear and feel.

You are a silence, you are my poems
You are the words that make me feel home
You welcome me with open arms,
Encircling me in your salubrious charms.

You are a solitude, you are my poetry
I want but my literature here with me;
The words of joy that make me laugh,
The chants of warmth that give me love.