Dear Love,
People search for you.
They look in the faces on the street trying to find you.
People lose you.
You fade away from them, leaving them only with grief.
What they don't understand is that you are everywhere.
You are in every fibre of the universe.
People just don't think to look.
They think that you are just an emotion to be felt.
Just the pounding of a heart,
the quickening of breath,
the eruption of butterflies in a stomach.
You are all of those things, but so much more.
You are the sun's rays on the wet earth.
You are the branches of a tree, stretching outward,
outward.
You are the whisper of a child late at night when awoken by nightmares and in need of their mother's comforting arms.
You are the hand of a painter.
You are the mind of a genius.
You are passion, though not always held passionately.
You are devotion, though not always devoted to.
You are reverence, though not always revered.

Sincerest regards,
Humanity

He sits alone and in silence
Atop the silver birch
High above the forest floor

Watching with attentive eyes
As moonlight flirts playfully,
Shadow dancing among the many
Silver branches

At the heart of the forest,
The brook chatters endlessly
Of adventures through mountains
So high their peaks are lost in
****** clouds, of underground
Rivers raging unseen beneath
Valleys filled with first
Spring lilies

The weary critters gather
To lap at cool waters,
Ignoring the incessant babble
As they keep a wary eye
On lurking shadows

High above, his sharp eyes
Glimpse outlines in the darkness,
Hidden shapes imitating bush
And fern, almost motionless
Yet moving

He utters a single sound,
A whisper barely audible
Above the ceaseless chatter
Of the brook

The hunters arrive and
Sniff the air, traces of
Prey still lingering,
But the trail grows cold

The brook continues to regale
The night air with tales

Seemingly unaware
They are no longer listening

Seemingly unaware
They never were