You beautiful spirit,
Crown jewel of my kingdom,
Goddess of my worship and sacrifice.
You could not leave me my words?

I give you my all,
My blood and sweat
With tears reserved for darker days,
And yet you take my words as well?

Reduced to scribbles,
Archaic and impassioned,
Imprisoned in the stolen skin of nature,
Perhaps never to see the light:
Never to tell you I cannot live without you;
Never to whisper my nervous need;
Never to say that your beauty is not skin deep.

A soul as yours has not a single flaw,
Though I have searched and searched,
And yet these gilded words I cannot speak.
You take my language with my breath away,
Locked in that deep, intelligent gaze,
Bounded with sadness.

Will you only let me say
"I cannot leave, I have to stay,"
Before you take my words away?

The Bringer of Light,
Time walks with a steady pace
Through a darkened path.

A careful shuffle,
His light is more than a guide:
It is a haven.

Some dally behind:
Don't they understand the fact
We are made to die?

Some rush before him:
They meet the darkest hallows
And lose their way home.

Some walk beside him:
Only they can see the light
And find their way home.

You cannot rush Time;
You cannot slow him either:
You only follow.

Another quiet morning-
Soft sunlight, rich and fragrant,
Cleanest city air in the spring,
And the birds are louder than we.

The suffocating smog never smelled sweeter,
The gentlest sway of leafless trees
In chilling wind to counteract the frozen sun-
Another quiet morning.

Speak to me.

Were only smiles the chosen currency,
You'd make me quite the richest man alive;
Would only pride bring power unto me,
I'd live a tsar, a King by who I wive;

Yet do you not these feelings share for me,
The man who so adores you as his bride?
Do not the comforts of a monarch please
His treasury, his sceptre, throne and tide?

For if those fleeting smiles are insincere,
Then not a single gem belongs to me;
And if your love for me is as I fear,
Then I am ruler of a barren sea.

For though you swell my heart without denial,
It is for naught if I can't make you smile.

A curious thing to reset an old clock:
Turning, churning, winding, minding
The delicate craftsmanship, rollicking spots
And gears, gears, gears.

How children delight in the noises and sights,
Ticking, ringing, turning, swinging
The pendulum flowing, eternally slowing
And falling, falling, falling.

Tumultuous ticking, the timekeeper turning
For each little hour to come and pass,
'Til one fateful second, the governor reckoned,
The clock should surely stop.

It is with curiosity
I find myself without a trance
Within in which to lose myself,
Give forth to flitting fancy.
Foe and friend might make amends
In such a stupor as that I lack,
But it is with a frightful force
I trudge the turgid track.

For even staunchest nemeses
Might find a counterpoint in depth;
A silent song is what I call
The anthem antiseptic.
Without a stone I can condone,
I fall to a resplendent stress:
I find myself increasingly
Descending into madness.

The miracle of life.

Like a petal in the mist
You show, bright and fragrant,
Through the haze in which we live-
Sustained all the longer by its warm breath
Yet pinned by its weight.

When the darkest sun shines,
When the gentlest breeze blows,
That mist will be gone
And you will be too,
Free to waft in the bitter breeze,
Thirsty and beautiful;

But I'm glad that mist is there
To breathe its warm breath
And pin you with its weight-
That faintest cloud,
Almost nothing at all-
That I might know you
All the longer,
Bright and fragrant
Like a petal in the mist.