feline tot
on the prayer of a rose
soars the alchemist's whine

It starts with his beautiful bright blue eye,
So steady and sure as the wings flutter and sigh.
They keep watch of the life below,
The nectar and the flowers that grow
A forest of colours, red to indigo.

Now, when the eyes shutter and blink,
The flowers look up and they think,
'Here is our dazzling friend,
Come here to dance and defend,
And to our gardens tend'.

Here, it whispers to a mother and child
Remembering all the times that they smiled
To each other and held hands
To help the child thrive and withstand
The winter's harshest command.

The mother waves and the child shakes
In excitement and down fall the flakes
Of yellow but quickly goes the protector
Gathering the pieces and the nectar
And hurrying back to inspect her.

Often people suspect that this pest
Eats the flowers and destroys their nest
But little do they know of why
The mother flower strokes the pest's eye.
You see butterflies don't just flutter by.

They have a duty and a burden
To protect the flowers of their garden
And see that everything is safe and sound
Down there on the ground.

There was a witch
In the meadow near the forest
Living in a tiny house
With walls of woods
And roof of grass

There was a witch
Dressed in black
Picking Chamomile,
Sage and Thyme,
Rosemary, and Mint and Chives

There was a witch
Dancing in the night
When the moon was high
And the stars all out
Singing a song that no one knew

And I couldn’t help to wish to be that witch
For she lived happy and simple

as autumn plants her feet,
cities burst into smoke, shades
and silence, until I can only sit
& grieve as a ruby-dream fades

into the mist; tell me this is earth
breaking feasts to mark the birth
of our bond, tell me this remains
the season where hearts rain

like leaves as they, as we, fall
in love beneath golden trees
& we'll only need to loosen our all
to cling tighter than we please;

tell me that when the perils flee,
you'll return, arms open-- tell me.

Love's vine stems from the heart;
it is ivy creeping through iron gates.
Wanders free through stony soil,
rushing stream, and bank.
It can loiter in the garden,
and fall victim to the spring rain.
But do not despair, my dear,
for its passion is like a flame:
Forever burning in its tendrils,
its coiled roots and leaves;
survives environs menace,
summer's blaze, and winter's freeze.

God is a name for the smell of squash plants under the noonday sun.

When the clouds are moving across the sky and you're drifting away in a fold out chair.

God is the word for when it all feels just right. Like you'll never be safer or more content than in this moment. You wish you could stretch it out forever.

God is the accumulation of all these flashes of goodness---an unexpected surprise, the smell of her cooking, his distinct laughter, a shooting star that brightens the sky and disappears, your smile--- our minds unable to comprehend an end to it all.

It must go on forever somehow.

And perhaps it does, just not in the way we expect.

Sunlight makes
the leaves
the greenest
they can be!

Love may be the toughest withdrawal
It fertilizes a garden and blooms the wildest—beautiful flowers.
It’s flourishes with enough love given to it,
as it decays in a catastrophic drought.
Nature needs care and its necessities to grow.
We grew a garden raising it up from the seed.
Withdrawals hit when the desire to revive the flowers and the browning of plant is no longer achievable.
No fertilizer.
No water.
Dry Soil.
The wanting to of seeing the flowers bloom again. The wanting of how the garden once looked.
The images of what the garden would have looked like. That is the toughest.

The blinding white shine
of the snow is divine
as I rush through the woods
to meet you by the dogwood

my heart is thundering
my thoughts are stuttering
our time is running out fast
we can't always escape our past

but faster and faster my feet run
as my hands fail to block the sun
in this sea of white, there's a splash of red
"Meet me by the dogwood," you had said

my speed picks up at the sign
as I try to escape my bloodline
then a blow of a horn, I hear them coming
they're here for me, they're going hunting

the biting cold stings my face
I try to keep a steady pace
as I try to reach the red dogwood
the place I spent my childhood

the sound of hooves reach my ears
the sound of shouts bring me to tears
I hear the barks of dogs and hounds
as I run across the snowy grounds

at last, I see you up ahead
surrounded by a sea of red
I jump across over a fallen log
I see that you have heard the dogs

you grab my hands as I arrive
a quick hard kiss cause I'm alive
but as we start to run away
the guards surround us, there to slay

I hold you close, tightly in my arms
as they load up their firearms
with a loud bang, they shot us dead
and the dogwood sees more bloodshed.