Oh, dear one, so gentle and sweet, cherry blossom lips so fair,
With eyes shaded by the sun's heat, and your scent rich in the air.

Lions clash with fierce delight, while your tender face I see,
Amidst the chaos of their fight, soft skin gazes back at me.

I saw your smile fade, then a tilt so mild, you looked at King Francis with a nod,
He smiled at me, saying, "Lucky child," your glove seemed to speak, as if it were odd.

I furrowed my brows, wondering why, you glanced at the king once more,
A myth took hold, thoughts running high, too much for the court to endure.

I am Court de Lorge, steady and bold, should not worry or care,
But then I saw your glove unfold, thrown it in the lion's lair.

I got lost in thought and your eyes, could not figure except for a bow,
I ran to the pit with fears that rise, Oh, what have I done for love now?

Fear, yes, fear runs down my spine, is this love when danger is near?
I didn't look left or right in line, saw the red glove, vision clear.

Rage and anger down my spine, I thought I was yours, you were mine.
This isn't love as I defined, threw the glove at you, a goodbye sign.

The king stood up, "By God, well done,"  too raged to bow, I held my breath,
With heavy steps, the lesson spun, I learned to never go too far for love.

A color, sign of love and danger,
representing the pain with beauty,
with value, with hands, with eyes.
A color vibrant enough to make us love
the mesmerizing shades with opinion,
until the shades darken and eyes turn the color.
It quickly changes from light to dark,
yet the color remains the same,
just different, different opinion and way.
With ****** hands the color drips down on white button shirt,
for the people who harmed, who tortured.
They are the ones who created the color,
twisting its meaning from love to hatred,
exploiting its power to manipulate and control.

Lost in experience, never to come back,
A nurturer carried heavy emotions on her back.
Pieces broken, trust now gone,
The owner was scolded, my lord done wrong.
Her cover torn, innocence lost,
Like broken glass, now paying the cost.
Everything changed, yet she stayed,
Just a maid, a silent maid.

A girl, tied to her inner strength with a rope,
Only a hundred miles to reach her distant home.
Destination, oh, it's finally in sight,
Reaching above with far greater height.
It looks so wrong, yet feels so right;
Obstracles appear across, tiring the bright sun's light.
Help would not work, nor would a scream,
Without beautifying the struggle within a dream.
A story tied with a picture near us,
Yet balance is the focus, or being ever cautious.

Messy bed, torn blanket
Sick person, not quite a man.
Looked at his wife blissfully,
With stretched hands to window pan.

His wife worried to what is it?
With eyes locked at the far tree,
She saw a horse resting by,
The hands can show how its free.

A leaf falls gently on the horse,
The man cries out in deep dismay.
She thought the horse was hurt, of course,
Not knowing much about horses that day.

She looked back at her man,
He mouthed to the horse, "I'm sorry."
One tear at a time fell from his eyes,
In this moment, lost hope in his story.

He couldn't help the horse,
A war raged on in the air.
The horse needed a friend, no remorse,
But a sick man could not be there.

Yet the horse needed rest,
Last rest before the war began.
This time the war felt different,
Without the man, it had no plan.

His wife realized and ran to the tree,
To see the horse one final time.
She prayed while crying softly,
As if the gods heard her chime.

She returned quickly to her dear man,
Running with the cold in the air.
She saw his arms still reaching,
Eyes closed, in solemn prayer.

"Dad I want to be a doctor" nine-year-old said,
Dad replied, "Doctors would not leave their bread".
"Come on dad, I don't want to eat"
"Doctor makes sure their breakfast is complete."
He angrily went out "bye-bye dad"
Thought to himself, "Is not eating breakfast, that bad?"
He studied hard, day and night,
Dad's words were "Make me proud, be my light"
He completed MBBS, with skills so fine,
Now he can make his dad proud, all the time.

One day, a call "Can I have a word?"
2:56pm, his dad's voice was last heard.
He ran to his house, his mom frowning,
his heart skipped a beat with white surrounding.
Dd was his strength, his luck, his power,
now his dad is rounded with flower.
Close to dad's ear, remembering the past,
he whispered, "Dad I am now a doctor, I had my breakfast."