I walked along a quiet shore
   and wanted not a beauty more,
when lo, behold, near rocks and sand
   a tree stood there, perfectly planned.
Its feet were buried in glistening waves.
   The sun was lapping moss and age.
Its hands and fingers watching ever
   carefully. Its break came never.
A grizzled white in bark that shines,
   an emerald green moss dressed like vines,
a deep and stalwart blue in motion
   framing ageless tree-shaped notions.
Stopping once to glance I thought
   a moment passing, freely bought,
a gift in fact when glance and glance
   became a more meditative stance.
A perspective in my mind was growing,
   deeply, newly, freshly knowing,
standing there to watch time passing,
   leaves changing, questions asking,
peaceful still with answers fleeting,
   we, the tree and I, were meeting.

Have you ever fallen in love at first sight?
I didn’t believe it could happen,
And then I met you.
You have no interest in keeping me,
I have every intention of loving you.
You weave in and out of life,
Unpredictable,
Unknowing of where you’re going to show up next.
Your smell is intoxicating,
Lingering in the air around me,
Falling asleep next to you with your back towards me.
I’ve tasted you on my lips,
I’ve felt you settle into the bones of my life and yet,
You are so fickle.
I know you are not good for me,
I know you aren’t reliable,
But *******.
Why do I feel like I need you like I need air?

Loving you
Is like drowning
Reaching for the brim
Waiting for you to help me
Instead of learning how to swim

Did you ever jump into a very deep lake or pool, you swim up, and you didn't have any air left a few inches below the surface? That's what depression feels like. Every day, with everything you do. You are so far down in the water that getting up for air is not an option anymore. It's easier to just swim down. Forever.

In case you forget,
In all your darkest moments,
Warmth,
Sunshine dancing petulantly on the water.
I would like to share the majesty-
Windermere.

Endless lawns of forlorn, scraggly grass
Stretches and etches hills into life.
Formed from the hand of an artist,
Stroking the countenance
And beaming beauty into its many folds,

Little hovels of black, vert and emerald
Hide like mice and voles,
Shivering in the sanctity
And uncertain security
That the upside-down mounds afford.

The lane is a wash of blue,
Smiling delicately at a distance
Flowing as it waves,
Languid and gay,
Comfortable in it's age.

Island.
But one tree,
Standing helplessly,
Hopelessly, out of place.
Feeling content, in its lovely face.

Even the sky agrees,
For there is no quarrel
Between it and the translucent, ethereal colours
Flooding the canvas.
What is the work of man compared to God?

And how much more beautiful it is than anything I have seen

When you run your fingers through his hair,
They burn as hot as the orange strands
That streak through the red of his locks
Which are too warm these fall nights.

You’re not sure when you realized that
He wasn’t like you,
Human and soft enough to be pricked by the knife’s edge
That he playfully dragged across his tongue
While looking at you with eyes that refracted the amber light of his soul.

He’s not sure when he realized that he’d stay,
Far past the summer when you met
On the sandy banks of the lake that swallowed light
Until it was the same deep blue of your eyes,
Binding him to your side long after the sun set
And the rays upon the bed’s sheets had faded
Into a warm glow in the dark.

When he runs his hands over your toes,
Cooled by the coming winter
That wraps you up in wool sweaters
And leaves you huffing as he walks by in only jeans,
He realizes that he dare not leave
You to grow cold these coming nights.