Early Summer,
Cherry Trees Blossom,
Sitting in the moonlight,
And two a.m calls.
The soft scent of perfume,
Whisps in the air,
Take a deep breath,
And take a listen.
Early birds chirping,
Crickets creeking,
Hands touching,
And marsh-mellows roasting.
The guitar strings strum,
The crowd starts to hum,
You close your eyes,
And cherish this moment.
It's full of heaven,
It's full of life,
It's early Summer,
Where Cherry Trees Blossom.

A soft sheer of cold air shivers thy soul,
An obligation to conflate, in bareness, i'm told.
To feel the sorrow, of the ones i borrow,
To feel the shame, needing someone to blame.
As i bedight myself, alone, by myself,
The feelings i felt, weren't mine to be felt.
Strangling my empathy, as rain drips sympathy,
Fearing oblivion, as oblivion fears me.

A soft sheer of warm air shivers thy mind,
An infatuation to affection, unless out of sight-out of mind.
To feel the love, of ones who love.
To feel a swain, who is never ashamed.
As i comfort myself, around much of else,
The feelings i felt, were meant to be felt.
Grasping my empathy, as sunshine blares carefully,
Loving inevitable, as inevitable loves me.

A soft sheer of hot air shivers thy body,
An inspiration to hatred, is thee state of my body.
To feel the pain, of fire sustained.
To feel the hate, of but one's mistake.
As i defend myself, around everyone else,
The feelings i felt, should never be felt.
Fearing my empathy, as thunder strikes terribly,
Hating hate, as hate hates me.

A soft sheer of cold air shivers thy soul,
An obligation to conflate, in bareness, i'm told.
To feel the sorrow, of the ones i borrow,
To feel the shame, needing someone to blame.
As i bedight myself, alone, by myself,
The feelings i felt, weren't mine to be felt.
Strangling my empathy, as rain drips sympathy,
Fearing oblivion, as oblivion fears me.

A soft sheer of warm air shivers thy mind,
An infatuation to affection, unless out of sight-out of mind.
To feel the love, of ones who love.
To feel a swain, who is never ashamed.
As i comfort myself, around much of else,
The feelings i felt, were meant to be felt.
Grasping my empathy, as sunshine blares carefully,
Loving inevitable, as inevitable loves me.

A soft sheer of hot air shivers thy body,
An inspiration to hatred, is thee state of my body.
To feel the pain, of fire sustained.
To feel the hate, of but one's mistake.
As i defend myself, around everyone else,
The feelings i felt, should never be felt.
Fearing my empathy, as thunder strikes terribly,
Hating hate, as hate hates me.

Stars are the proof of a Wonderland,
A place beyond our imagination,
Where thoughts are the essence of words.
Gazing and searching the midnight sky,
Finding the stars winking at me from an endless arch of blackness beyond the moons corona. In places, a vivid sequin-silver and birthstone blue, turn to reflect on their history, like scattered fairy dust in the sky and beacons of hope for all the lost souls of the world. The sensational burn, an itch, for one lucky star to fly silent as others sit still. The stars lure me into a dream, a need. A need for exploration. Fantasizing the topsy-turvy world, which seems to be but one compartment of my mind. Defying gravity, just to float like a feather into the depths of a Wonderland. So beautiful. So true. And their i sit, and realize, that no matter how black the night becomes, the stars brilliance pierce the veil of darkness, a promise, that they stand vigil over us, now and forever. And with their light, they remind us of our ancestors, of loved ones passed, of songs and music, of a better tomorrow. And so i live in a Wonderland, where dreams are finally my reality, and my thoughts, are spoken with words.

Tonight is a beautiful night. The stars and the beautiful reflections of street lights on the lake have spoken to me. Even during the darkest hour, there is light.  There are the stars that look down upon us...and the ones you see when you walk down the road. This world is full of wonders, and we don't notice it as much as we should. Every moment is significant. Every death is designed. Every tear is destined. We are the essence of this world,  and it is up to us to be the stars that shine above...or the street lights that reflect on the lake...because maybe tomorrow, or next week, or ten years from now...there will no longer be stars, or street lights...or us. Make this moment count and cherish it with your heart and soul. Tomorrow may never exist. I love you so much, forever and always, even in the darkest hour.

For love was the only thing the man kept safe,
His woebegone eyes,
Screaming out her name,
Terrified of aching,
His heart came to break,
He missed her exquisiteness,
And comely face.

He started to brood,
Over her cynosure ways,
She wasn't a dalliance,
She was more of a demure ebullience,
Her eloquence and devotion,
Her passion and her motion,
That lilt in her voice,
For love was mellifluous.

The man couldn't live,
He was drowning with lassitude,
The feeling he felt,
Were truly ineffable,
But now she was gone,
He's been cognizant to long,
He strode back to bucolic,
In his bungalow home.

And there she was,
Her grave and soul,
Buried deep inside,
This once halcyon whole,
For love is everything,
Please come back home.

Love is the type of feeling,
You cannot deny,
You meet that someone,
And look in their eyes.
The moment you meet,
Your heart starts to beat,
You long for this person,
It's meant to be.

Love is the type of feeling,
You cannot dismiss,
You kiss that someone,
And cannot resist.
The moment he laughs,
Your heart starts to see,
You long for this person,
It's meant to be.

In the House of Pain,
A young boy lived,
He longed for love,
But always got hate,
Seven different homes,
Seven different pains,
Every single Christmas,
He asked the same,
Bring me family,
Bring my love,
Bring me to, a place joy.

In the House of Pain,
The young boy grew,
He longed for stars,
To come racing through,
Fifteen different homes,
Fifteen different pains,
Every single birthday,
He wished the same,
Bring me family,
Bring me hope,
Bring me to, a place of joy.

In the House of Pain,
The young boy prayed,
He longed for God,
Is he too late?
Eighteen different homes,
Eighteen different pains,
Every single Sunday,
He sang the same,
Bring me family,
Bring me faith,
God forgive me,
Am i too late?