If I could do it all, know that I would,
but I can't, and I'm not sure what to even do,
but I've figured out that you can't be misunderstood,
if everyone knows they can't understand you.

I named her Christ,
as it was only when I met her that I realized I had been dead for all my years,
and she resurrected me with a single touch.

She turned my water into wine,
as I was constantly intoxicated just knowing she lived,
and all words came out like slurred gibberish.

She built a solid foundation and home,
solely with her bare hands,
and sheltered me from every element.

Her hands healed every scar and wound,
leaving warmth where there had been cold,
and soft silk where there once was rock.

I'm sure she was born from the brightest star,
shining down from the Heavens,
lighting the way to eternal nirvana and pure bliss.

I named her Christ,
as she walked effortlessly on water,
and I prayed it would be forever in my direction.

There's always two directions and no one knows the best course,
for my simple and small affections never smudge out my remorse,
And with all four seasons, I only ever see my love grow,
as the heart has it's reasons, reason itself does not know.

I was living in a sunset, counting seconds until the next rise,
but I always fail to forget how the glare stings my eyes.
Coated now with a harsh wind's blow, just one of the four seasons to flaunt,
it's true that only the heart can know what it is that the heart wants.

I see the trees; changing colour with slow seconds in between,
I'll be what's needed of me; yellow, brown, red or green.

They tell me the days will only get longer;
I'm unsure as to if that's good or bad.
"The sun's rays will just hit you stronger,
and your farmer's tan will show up plaid."
And with all four seasons, time moves both fast and slow,
as the heart has it's reasons, reason itself does not know.