I write these poems
for only one reason
I don’t care the day
or the time or the season

If flowers are blooming
or skies are bright blue
If meadowlarks sing midst
the fresh morning dew

If butterflies float
on a warm summer breeze
Or moonlight reflects
off of calm evening seas

If snow flurries fall
ever soft on the ground
Or musical whispers
are flitting around

If day turns to night
or night turns to day
If it starts to rain
washing it all away

If the sunrise is coming
or stars glow above
I write these poems
so she knows she is loved

The crescent moon be my perch.
        A bough from which I extend my arm.
Careful fingers grasp my brush...
And with it I shall fill the void
with the universe.                

               The crescent moon be my hammock.
Upon which I lean fully into,
to seek restful recluse.                
Should my body start to buckle...
        From the heavy hopes of wistful eyes.

   The crescent moon be my anchor.
From which I draw                
my inspiration and strength.
                   She would cradle and sway me gentle...
      When wilting hearts spill unto me
the callous wiles of the world.    

The crescent moon be my well.        
A fount through which my palette        
remains full with an                                 
abundant array of silvery white.        

Just so...                                 
I could conjure for others,
       what their hearts so desire.

Just so...                      
I could grant them       
             needed solace and tranquillity.

Just so...                 
                          I could infinitely paint for them
the stars...