What a beauty of a flower showing!
What a fragrance of a flower mentioning!
What silence of a bud can offer?
What a dawn whispering!
What a dewdrop capturing!
Can You say?
It is not about You.
O’ my Lord!
It's all about you Lord
--------

You feel the onset,
a coming of age
chapters that came
now changing phase

pregnant mothers
of children's firsts
hints at marriage
or spiritual birth

Pages turn,
you can't halt it
hope to grow wise
if you can help it

the rhythm of life
is always of change
if you remain stagnant
your skin will age

To see the end,
oh a noble feat
a crying old woman
of 93

she lost her husband
her first and young
this was years ago

arms of iv's
and infected blood

calm doctors
of objective question
silent nurses
at medical attention

Though chapters change,
not all are the same
a spring to come
or hell's cold rain

I wish you the best,
upon your journey

Seeing through lenses as I tread,
Seizing shades of the chromatic world,
While it dances in my vision.
Beautiful Ecstasy, 
bequeathed unto my eyes,
My soul, and my mind,
Which only the power of Nature can Provide.
I've captured the world’s wonders into my device,
Yet never one of them remained as mine.
As beautiful things never demands attention,
My shutters need not to click.
Let that instant soak into my mind,
As it becomes A Moment I like...

my eyes are like a camera,
clicking away at the view.
my heart is like a locket,
keeping a picture of me and you.

we don't need a filter,
to maintain model shots.
it's best when it's stolen,
like it is with our hearts.

the process will be long,
but we know it's worth the wait.
for the best pictures are the memories,
which we patiently create.

"will i be able to hold your hands someday,
wishing they would never let go?"

and the hours would feel complete
when that day at last arrives,
24/7 my hand's in yours,
the moment day fades into night.
touching fingers, grazing skin,
our life's a polaroid-- white and black,
once our images, hearts and hands are captured,
we can never go back.

I lay awake so late at night and stare up at the ceiling,
I want to write I want to create some form to capture my feelings,
But my brain so dazed and tired cannot form the right thoughts,
And so it must analyze itself to create something of meaning.

I wish I could write sonnets aplenty, haikus flowing abound,
I wish I could grace this digital world with strokes and words unknown,
But instead I am trapped behind this wall of gray called writer's block,
And cannot capture these feelings of youth and trust and love,
but at least I am trying.

You must give me that.