No more words. You’re right, it’s enough
Of mussy clusters of meaningless phrases.
All thoughts are chilled and are wrapped in pain.
It’s not an interesting story for us.

Colors have faded, cleaned out with time.
The beauty’s become decrepit in whole.
The past has been a depressing burthen.
An emptiness’s hanged over us in full.

There’re no more words.
Feelings are rootless.
We’re free of each other.
Our love is bootless.

these stories we wear –

scars,
stretchmarks,
wrinkles,

are wrongly labelled
as imperfections.

but aren’t they such beautiful,
courageous signs
of how we have lived?

This week, I remembered how to hold things gently-
how to sit in a sunlit room with laughter
and not flinch at the brightness.

I made time.
Not borrowed, not stolen, not carved from guilt,
but real time-
offered with open hands
to people who make me feel like more than a body on a schedule.

There were hours that didn’t apologize for passing,
moments that asked nothing from me but presence.
I gave what I had, and still had something left.
Even joy. Even peace.

This week didn’t ask me to survive it.
It let me belong to it.

And now,
at the edge of it all,
I’m quietly afraid-
that I will look back on these days
from some far-off place
where time slips like water,
and wonder if this was just
a rare breath
before the drowning begins again.

We were walking, the painter and I,
Across the plain and towards the hill.
The moon had waxed into her glory
Causing the zephyrs to sigh.

We rested awhile at the foot of the rise
Nestled in a comfortable silence.
The night moved on languid feet
Passion hidden under a serene guise.

We took the path on the dark leeward
My golden quill our only light.
The painter promised a spectacle
And anticipation fueled my climb

Cherry Blossoms swirled in the wind,
As we stood on silver bathed ground.
A man stood at the edge of the hill,
His hands on the railing, waiting.

Under the tree he stood.
The flowers hiding the wrinkles
Of his suit and his skin.
His gaze fixed upon the moon.

My friend and I sat against a boulder
And waited with him.
The wind whispered with the flowers
And the Sakura tree sang to the night.

The song was impossible,
Yet hear it we did.
Violins and keys, flutes and harps -
A haunting tune of longing.

And as the song rose,
A woman stood beside the man;
A bride clad in a moonlight gown,
Her veil of starshine trailing behind.

The man took her hand,
And the woman drew closer.
And groom and bride,
They danced among the flowers.

Wrinkles were smoothened
Trembling hands strengthened
Faltering feet trode sure
And wilting heart bloomed anew.

Happiness perfused the air.
Cruelly brief the phenomenon would be -
So the man knew, and chose to forget.
He held on to the past and danced.

We sat there, intruders and fools,
Too ashamed to look on,
Too enthralled to look away,
Until sleep hid them from our eyes.

The melody rains with the petals,
Tears dance with the smiles.
The waltz of the weary hearts
Lasts as long as the moon.

Eyes like diamonds
Deep and beautiful
Capturing my soul.
If a siren's voice were a tangible creation,
it would be her eyes.
Like a void.

I would leap in without a second thought.

Your countenance is radiant,  
like morning light weaving through trees,  
soft whispers of breeze dancing on leaves,  
the gentle sway of petals in bloom.  

You walk upon the earth  
as if it were woven from dreams,  
each step a brushstroke,  
each glance a melody,  
echoing in the hearts of those who meet you.  

Time halts in your presence,  
clouds pause to listen,  
birds abandon their nests,  
captivated by the calm in your stride.  

Laughter spills from your lips,  
a cascade of silver sunlight,  
filling the air with warmth,  
wrapping the weary in a hug of joy.  

You turn awkward moments into art,  
always possessing a Godgiven grace,  
as though the Lord's joy beams from
your face.  

In the quiet of twilight,  
your essence lingers,  
a gentle reminder  
that beauty is found  
in the way you simply are.

Your smile brightens the room,  
like morning light spilling  
through open windows,  
chasing shadows into corners.  

It weaves warmth  
into the fabric of the day,  
each laugh a gentle ripple,  
softening edges of worry.  

In that glow,  
the world feels smaller,  
and hope sways  
like a flower dancing in the breeze.

Do you ever just ponder
And wonder of life
The splender of nature
Of wildlife?