Ah, Nikolaas, my love for him is not the same, as my love for thee;
My love for thee was once, and may still be, sweeter, purer, more elegant, and free;
But still, how unfortunate! imprisoned in mockery, and liberated not-by destiny;
It still hath to come and go; it cannot stay cheerfully-about thee forever, and within my company.

And but tonight-shall Amsterdam still be cold?
But to cold temper thou shalt remain unheeded; thou shalt be tough, and bold;
Sadly I am definite about having another nightmare, meanwhile, here;
For thy voice and longings shall be too far; with presumptions and poems, I cannot hear.

Sleep, my loveliest, sleep; for unlike thine, none other temper, or love-is in some ways too fragrant, and sweet;
All of which shall neither tempt me to flirt, nor hasten me to meet;
My love for thee is still undoubted, defined, and unhesitant;
Like all t'is summer weather around; 'tis both imminent, and pleasant.

My love for thee, back then, was but one youthful-and reeking of temporal vitality;
But now 'tis different-for fathom I now-the distinction between sincerity, and affectation.
Ah, Nikolaas, how once we strolled about roads, and nearby spheres-in living vivacity;
With sweets amongst our tongues-wouldst we attend every song, and laugh at an excessively pretentious lamentation.

Again-we wouldst stop in front of every farm of lavender;
As though they wanted to know, and couldst but contribute their breaths, and make our love better.
We were both in blooming youth, and still prevailed on-to keep our chastity;
And t'is we obeyed gladly, and by each ot'er, days passed and every second went even lovelier.

But in one minute thou wert but all gone away;
Leaving me astray; leaving me to utter dismay.
I had no more felicity in me-for all was but, in my mind, a dream of thee;
And every step was thus felt like an irretrievable path of agony.

Ah, yon agony I loathe! The very agony I wanted but to slaughter, to redeem-and to bury!
For at t'at time I had known not the beauty of souls, and poetry;
I thought but the world was wholly insipid and arrogant;
T'at was so far as I had seen, so far as I was concerned.

I hath now, seen thy image-from more a lawful angle-and lucidity;
And duly seen more of which-and all start to fall into place-and more indolent, clarity;
All is fair now, though nothing was once as fair;
And now with peace, I want to be friends; I want to be paired.

Perhaps thou couldst once more be part of my tale;
But beforehand, I entreat thee to see, and listen to it;
A tale t'at once sent into my heart great distrust and sadness, and made it pale;
But from which now my heart hath found a way out, and even satisfactorily flirted with it,

For every tale, the more I approach it, is as genuine as thee;
And in t'is way-and t'is way only, I want thee to witness me, I want thee to see me.
I still twitch with tender madness at every figure, and image-I hath privately, of thine;
They are still so captivatingly clear-and a most fabulous treasure to my mind.

My love for thee might hath now ended; and shall from now on-be dead forever;
It hath been buried as a piece of unimportance, and a dear old, obsolete wonder;
And thus worry not, for in my mind it hath become a shadow, and ceased to exist;
I hath made thee resign, I hath made thee drift rapidly away, and desist.

Ah, but again, I shall deny everything I hath said-'fore betraying myself once more;
Or leading myself into the winds of painful gravity, or dismissive cold tremor;
For nothing couldst stray me so well as having thee not by my side;
An image of having thee just faraway-amidst the fierceness of morns, and the very tightness of nights.

And for seconds-t'ese pains shall want to bury me away, want to make me shout;
And shout thy very name indeed; thy very own aggravated silence, and sins out loud;
Ah, for all t'ese shadows about are too vehement-but eagerly eerie;
Like bursts of outspread vigilance, misunderstood but lasting forever, like eternity.

'Twas thy own mistake-and thus thou ought'a blame anyone not;
Thou wert the one to storm away; thou wert the one who cut our story short.
Thou wert the one who took whole leave, of the kind entity-of my precious time and space;
And for nothingness thou obediently set out; leaving all we had built, to abundant waste.

Thou disappeared all too quickly-and wert never seen again;
Thou disappeared like a column of smoke, to whom t'is virtual world is partial;
And none of thy story, since when-hath stayed nor thoughtfully remained;
Nor any threads of thy voice were left behind, to stir and ring, about yon hall.

Thou gaily sailed back into thy proud former motherland;
Ah, and the stirring noises of thy meticulous Amsterdam;
Invariably as a man of royalty, in thy old arduous way back again;
Amongst the holiness of thy mortality; 'twixt the demure hesitations, of thy royal charms.

And thou art strange! For once thou mocked and regarded royalty as *******;
But again, to which itself, as credulous, and soulless victim, thou couldst serenely fall;
Thus thou hath perpetually been loyal not, to thy own pride, and neatly sworn words;
Thou art forever divided in his dilemma; and the unforgiving sweat, of thy frightening two worlds.

Indeed thy godlike eyes once pierced me-and touched my very fleshly happiness;
But with a glory in which I couldst not rejoice; at which I couldst not blush with tenderness.
Thy charms, although didst once burn and throttle me with a ripe vitality;
Still wert not smooth-and ever offered to cuddle me more gallantly; nor kiss my boiling lips, more softly.

Every one of t'ese remembrances shall make me hate thee more;
But thou thyself hath made more forgiving, and excellent-like never before;
'Ah, sweet,' thou wouldst again protested-last night, 'Who in t'is very life wouldst make no sin?'
'Forgiveth every sinned soul thereof; for 'tis unfaithful, for 'tis all inherently mean.'

'Aye, aye,' and thou wouldst assent to my subsequent query,
'I hath changed forever-not for nothingness, but for eternitie.'
'To me love o' gold is now but nothing as succulent',
'I shall offer elegantly myself to not be of any more torment, but as a loyal friend.'

'I shall calleth my former self mad; and be endued with nothing but truths, of rifles and hate;'
'But now I shall attempt to be obedient; and naughty not-towards my fate.'
'Ah, let me amendst thereof-my initial nights, my impetuous mistakes,'
'Let me amendst what was once not dignified; what was once said as false, and fake.'

'So t'at whenst autumn once more findeth its lapse, and in its very grandness arrive,'
'I hopeth thy wealth of love shall hath been restored, and all shall be alive,'
'For nothing hath I attempted to achieve, and for nothing else I hath struggled to strive;'
'But only to propose for thy affection; and thy willingness to be my saluted wife.'

And t'is small confession didst, didst tear my dear heart into pieces!
But canst I say-it was ceremoniously established once more-into settlements of wishes;
I was soon enlivened, and no longer blurred by tumult, nor discourteous-hesitation;
Ah, thee, so sweetly thou hath consoled, and removed from me-the sanctity of any livid strands of my dejection.

For in vain I thought-had I struggled, to solicit merely affection-and genuinity from thee;
For in vain I deemed-thou couldst neither appreciate me-nor thy coral-like eyes, couldst see;
And t'is peril I perched myself in was indeed dangerous to my night and day;
For it robbed me of my mirth; and shrank insolently my pride and conscience, stuffing my wholeness into dismay.

But thou hath now released me from any further embarkation of mineth sorrow;
Thou who hath pleased me yesterday; and shall no more be distant-tomorrow;
Thou who couldst brighten my hours by jokes so fine-and at times, ridiculous;
Thou who canst but, from now on, as satisfactory, irredeemable, and virtuous.

Ah, Nikolaas, farther I shall be no more to calleth thee mad; or render thee insidious;
Thou shall urge me to forget everything, as hating souls is not right, and perilous;
Thou remindeth me of forgiving's glorious, and profound elegance;
And again 'tis the holiest deed we ought to do; the most blessed, and by God-most desired contrivance.

Oh, my sweet, perhaps thou hath sinned about; but amongst the blessed, thou might still be the most blessed;
For nothing else but gratitude and innocence are now seen-in thy chest;
Even when I chastised thee-and called thee but an impediment;
Thou still forgave me, and turned myself back again into elastic merriment.

Thou art now pure-and not by any means meek, but cruel-like thy old self is;
For unlike 'tis now, it couldst never be satisfied, nor satiated, nor pleased;
'Twas far too immersed in his pursuit of bloodied silver, and gold;
And to love it had grown blind, and its greedy woes, healthily too bold.

And just like its bloodied silver-it might be but the evil blood itself;
For it valued, and still doth-every piece with madness, and insatiable hunger;
Its works taint his senses, and hastened thee to want more-of what thou couldst procure-and have,
But it realised not that as time passed by, it made thee but grew worse-and in the most virtuous of truth, no better.

But thou bore it like a piece of godlike, stainless ivory;
Thou showered, and endured it with love; and blessed it with well-established vanity.
Now it hath been purified, and subdued-and any more teaches thee not-how to be impatient, nor imprudent;
As how it prattled only, over crude, limitless delights; and the want of reckless impediments.

Thou nurtured it, and exhorted it to discover love-all day and night;
And now love in whose soul hath been accordingly sought, and found;
And led thee to absorb life like a delicate butterfly-and raiseth thy light;
The light thou hath now secured and refined within me; and duly left me safe, and sound.

Thou hath restored me fully, and made me feel but all charmed, awesome, and way more heavenly;
Thou hath toughened my pride and love; and whispered the loving words he hath never spoken to me.
Ah, I hope thou art now blessed and safely pampered in thy cold, mischievous Amsterdam;
Amsterdam which as thou hath professed-is as windy, and oft' makes thy fingers grow wildly numb.

Amsterdam which is sick with superior lamentations, and fame;
But never adorned with exact, or at least-honest means of scrutiny;
For in every home exists nothing but bursts of madness, and flames;
And in which thereof, lives 'twixt nothing-but meaningless grandeur, and a poorest harmony.

Amsterdam which once placed thee in pallid, dire, and terrible horror;
Amsterdam which gave thy spines thrills of disgust, and infamous tremor;
But from which thou wert once failed, fatefully, neither to flee, nor escape;
Nor out of whose stupor, been able to worm thy way out, or put which, into shape.

But I am sure out of which thou art now delightful-and irresistibly fine;
For t'ere is no more suspicion in thy chest-and all of which hath gone safely to rest;
All in thy very own peace-and the courteous abode of our finest poetry;
Which lulls thee always to sleep-and confer on thee forever, degrees of a warmest, pleasantry.

Ah, Nikolaas-as thou hath always been, a child of night, but born within daylight;
Poor-poor child as well, of the moon, whose life hath been betrayed but by dullness, and fright.
Ah, Nikolaas-but should hath it been otherwise-wouldst thou be able to see thine light?
And be my son of gladness, be my prince of all the more peaceful days; and ratified nights.

And should it be like which-couldst I be the one; the very one idyll-to restore thy grandeur?
As thou art now, everything might be too blasphemous, and in every way obscure;
But perhaps-I couldst turn every of thine nightmare away, and maketh thee secure;
Perhaps I couldst make thee safe and glad and sleep soundly; perfectly ensured.

Ah, Nikolaas! For thy delight is pure-and exceptionally pure, pure, and pure!
And thy innocence is why I shall craft thee again in my mind, and adore thee;
For thy absurdity is as shy, and the same as thy purity;
But in thy hands royalty is unstained, flawless, and just too sure.

For in tales of eternal kingdoms-thou shalt be the dignified king himself;
Thou shalt be blessed with all godly finery, and jewels-which thou thyself deserve;
And not any other tyrant in t'ese worlds-who mock ot'er souls and pretend to be brave;
But trapped within t'eir own discordant souls, and wonders of deceit and curses of reserve.

Oh, sweet-sweet Nikolaas! Please then, help my poetry-and define t'is heart of me!
Listen to its heartbeat-and tellest me, if it might still love thee;
Like how it wants to stretch about, and perhaps touch the moonlight;
The moonlight that does look and seem to far, but means still as much-to our very night.

Ah! Look, my darling-as the moonlight shall smile again, to our resumed story;
If our story is, in unseen future, ever truly resumed-and thus shall cure everything;
As well t'is unperturbed, and still adorably-longing feeling;
The feeling that once grew into remorse-as soon as thou stomped about, and faraway left me.

Again love shall be, in thy purest heart-reincarnated,
For 'tis the only single being t'at is wondrous-and inexhaustible,
To our souls, 'tis but the only salvation-and which is utterly edible,
To console and praise our desperate beings-t'at were once left adrift, and unheartily, infuriated.

Love shall be the cure to all due breathlessness, and trepidations;
Love shall be infallible, and on top of all, indefatigable;
And love shall be our new invite-to the recklessness of our exhausted temptations;
Once more, shall love be our merit, which is sacred and unalterable; and thus unresentful, and infallible.

Love shall fill us once more to the brim-and make our souls eloquent;
Love be the key to a life so full-and lakes of passion so ardent;
Enabling our souls to flit about and lay united hands on every possible distinction;
Which to society is perhaps not free; and barrier as they be, to the gaiety of our destination.

Thus on the rings of union again-shall our dainty hearts feast;
As though the entire world hath torn into a beast;
But above all, they shan't have any more regrets, nor hate;
Or even frets, for every fit of satisfaction hath been reached; and all thus, hath been repaid.

Thus t'is might be thee; t'at after all-shall be worthy of my every single respect;
As once thou once opened my eyes-and show me everything t'at t'is very world might lack.
Whilst thou wert striving to be admirable and strong; t'is world was but too prone and weak;
And whilst have thy words and poetry; everyone was just perhaps too innocent-and had no clue, about what to utter, what to speak.

Thou might just be the very merit I hath prayed for, and always loved;
Thou might hath lifted, and relieved me prettily; like the stars very well doth the moon above.
And among your lips, lie your sweet kisses t'at made me live;
A miracle he still possesses not; a specialty he might be predestined not-to give.

Thou might be the song I hath always wanted to written;
But sadly torn in one day of storm; and thus be secretly left forgotten;
Ah, Nikolaas, but who is to say t'at love is not at all virile, easily deceived, and languid?
For any soul saying t'at might be too delirious, or perhaps very much customary, and insipid.

And in such darkness of death; thou shalt always be the tongue to whom I promise;
One with whom I shall entrust the very care of my poetry; and ot'er words of mouth;
One I shall remember, one I once so frightfully adored, and desired to kiss;
One whose name I wouldst celebrate; as I still shall-and pronounce every day, triumphantly and aggressively, out loud.

For thy name still rings within me with craze, but patterned accusation, of enjoyment;
For thy art still fits me into bliss, and hopeful expectations of one bewitching kiss;
Ah, having thee in my imagination canst turn me idle, and my cordial soul-indolent;
A picture so naughty it snares my whole mind-more than everything, even more than his.

Oh, Nikolaas, and perhaps so thereafter, I shall love, and praise thee once more-like I doth my poetry;
For as how my poetry is, thou art rooted in me already; and thus breathe within me.
Thou art somehow a vein in my blood, and although fictitious still-in my everyday bliss;
Thou art worth more than any other lov

The slits of glass give way to light,
Which cuts through the air and sun leeched curtains.
It falls weightless on warming skin,
Breathing life into stillness.

A gentle caress, a sultry glance;
Statuesque, they cast shadows on the wall.
Shadows that illuminate and contour,
Express and entrance.

Longing rapture in eyes, incandescent and iridescent;
Loveless yet sensuous silken skin that tells of life well lived.
Your broken heart rests on shoulders, colored and vivid;
A world is painted in timeless elegance.

What horrors has she seen? Said the looker so enthused.
What grandness has passed her eye? Says another just as true.
Oh the colors so earthen tell of pleasures and sorrows, yet whisper of frailty.
They speak in tongues that can never be trusted, only pondered.

The intricate oil work from a badger’s fair coat,
Show delicate and smooth,
All the features of her roistering frame;
Passions of the heart now told by passions of the brush.

The life is still, but forever infinite.

Something tells me that you’re going to be magic someday.
That same something also told me that our intelligence is dying, fading deeply into an artificial existence,
swirly, milky, warm and familiar.
Oh! This cry reminds me of time spent inside of my mother’s womb, it’s the ******* essence of life, division creates one,
things come undone, wheels are spun and respun.
Oh, existence is exciting. De…
Spite what I say, I as a human have this exciting urge to believe in everything and nothing all at the same time, and yet feel completely content with the uncertainty immediately following. Why?
Why slide down the backbones of your friends instead of creating your own out of silly putty and *******? Because that’s all that’s REALLY going on here, right? Just a whole lot of utter and complete *******. We’re all just in search of something substantially and outrageously righteous to believe in.
Something profound, yet enticing. Never arrogant or stringy, stretchy, worn.
We live in mad days, a mad daze of terror, rage. Disgusting filth, mesmerizing measurements, fat men and their walrus struggle, THERE’S TOO MANY BABIES!
Everything’s real frothy, fluffy, CUSHY.
And this comfortable comfort aides me late past the second noon, where bubblegum and clownfish skies look so beautiful when you’re looking through smoky spectacles.
Let’s clasp hands and stroll down that crooked stretch of land far from electronic arms and bionic senior citizens, super as they may be.
don’t let anyone catch that regret in your voice, dear. This is just another rat-race, fast paced and now we’re stopped at some electronic gate while we travel down the Information Super Highway. ****’s wack, man.
What’s with all the can’ts and stops and yields? I say I can’t read fuzzy bear, so stop harassing my mood and demeter, you don’t see me checking out your gun.
STOP. WAIT! HALT!!
I’m going to threaten your life now, or at least I would if I could threaten any shredded living remains of a tale probably sadder than my own. Get going, you’re going to late for your Living in Denial workshop meeting that you attend every Sunday morning.
Don’t go throwing my sheep into the fire now, you never know what you might spark. And you don’t see me checking out your gun.
Just don’t hate me because I don’t follow your logic, it’s my world too man. See, you spark my petite taste for “sincere apologies” and throw another polished rock in my face. “Sorry” is no ******* excuse for greed.
You’re going to be pure, radiating magic someday. I can see it in your eyes, they’re asymmetrically wise. Now expand your voice like a strong Whitney ballad, hauntingly emotional and loud. LOUD.
So loud that your cousin Stanley can hear you all the way from his random mid-life crisis backpack excursion in the Swiss Alps.
Take my hand, friend, and in the park by the trees with the birds and the bees we’ll slowly fade into the grass, every atom meshing and combining, it’s science. Do you hear it? The pulsating of the massive brain, the all-knowing library?
Knowledge is flowing. We’ll get massively drunk and pass out in a cozy embryo sack full of words and goo (but don’t worry, we’ll be wearing raincoats).
Warm and surreal, we’re happy and we’ll wake up still drunk off of knowledge.

And then. We feel that stinging magic, and it’s bittersweet, glamorous and harsh. And just as euphoric as we were, we fall.
As with every high, there is a low
And you are a giant ticking grandfather clock counting each moment carefully and precisely, making sure to take note of the glow and grandness of it all. Everything.
Is ignorance bliss? Do you wish to be left in the dark?
Because, to be honest, I’m scared of the dark, and sometimes I need a little light.

An effusive elaborate scheme the colors advance to bright spellbinding allure then they achieve
Depth of quality by cutting back to softer hues and then the natural dark green is the bold
Touch that succeeds with total symmetry showcased in a view perfected by glass the prism
Most fitting not only to see but to be captivated by perfected expression it is a metaphor for life
The master designer chooses his subjects well one infuses another then by degree others
Foreshadow and glorify it blends tangible and intangible into intelligent coherent order tasteful
And sublime the hint and the elusive wonder all is needed is the wind to bow and ****** it into
A profusion a veritable concert that stirs with appeal life is in motion the players advance and
Retreat each speaking lines unique to themselves what sensations speak tendrils on a garden
Trellis held and fixed a gesture that plays and portrays intricate details the mystery that plays so
Well the stealing of morning frost then the blaze and then restful dying rays that spell comfort
The field rolls and contorts this brandishes excitement exuberance veers and plunders life
Become exploration trails hidden thickets hide and hold expression that is pent up ready to
Explode what vesture we wear it grips our friend’s astonishment is read on their faces but it is
Like a house of many mirrors because their lives are having the same effect on you some days
Are uneventful others are storm tossed with grandness the riches of an all contained realm
Spasms convulse like waves of the sea we stand forth to puzzle and dream what does it all
Mean the sanctity reveals plumes that are invisible that are far reaching and they have given us
This course of endurance that belies longing we grow soft and an inner glowing surpasses the
Stringent the misfit that moans against conforming we are treasure that exceeds all expectation
Life is rich we are its brightest colors and light night is for brooding the day is for shinning and
Divulging the secrets found in the brooding time we accost others we signify to them not only
Our own worth but there’s also fetching is the spray that magnifies the sky we are the bursting
We are the aliveness that is found each day in our lives that is the dooryard of discovery



----------------------------------------------------------------­----------------

Sorry your flowers are late

I purchased them each one and the color was representing the many individual friends a delightful blue
Iris was no other than S.P. when dark shadows gather as they sometimes do she is the bluing of
Beautiful contrast this rich blue spreads from point of origin to the eye engulfing all visible ranges a
Small but great blue lifts the very shadows up until the sun vanquishes them by golden light then the red
Hues embolden of richness many times it is spent but never squandered and its riches never diminish or
Disappear in friendships ever rewarding garment he endures R.P. Violet this friend this light was
Adorned in grave clothes to join her loved ones of all generations but her influence warmth and the
Kindness that cannot die lingers it wafts across fields it passes through airy open window you smile
Unknowingly because she is by your side and not ever more so than your birthday precious one her
Initials are N.V. yellow so rich it blushes the wind this shear fabric so light it waves as pure silk you were
Given this gift early in life its folds hold so much treasured moments grasses trees houses playful side
Walks a stream of memories that bind you in the same vase others have beheld your combined beauty
Of thought and action I.M… The green of a soldier is enjoined by the mist it drifts it has patterns truth
And faith walks within this creature that has stature her face calls the night bugler all is dispensed
Within her voice is the kindest authority to all duty is understood in its deepest meaning G.H.E. then we
Come to multicolored piece of finest art true this grandness walks by your side and more so in your
Heart vestures sown with silver in glowing gold if an ever the hair turn to silver the cold black of youth
Will tower into all sunsets and grand children will always bring rays of joy and laughter happy belated
birthday Roberta

It started somewhere deep, before I knew the depths of depth itself
passed in a flurry of a moment, before I knew the limits of time.

There were the seeds, and the smiles. Root vegetables with
herbed olive oil. Sprouts coming up. Mom browned by the sun.
Brother naked with the sprinkler.
Dirt was the feeling of being human.

Water mixing with the dirt between our toes,
children making laughter in the trees.
Trees that shot upward like castles with hidden treasures,
sticks on the ground. Sticks as weapons for our toy-games. Sticks to walk with.
Calls cried out over the crunch of leaves. Hanging from branches.
Contests to be the best explorer, that
was the stuff of life.

Somewhere out in nature, by the campfire, I learned
that love is everything. Family laughing while the animals
went about their business, unnoticed, in the trees.
Safety by the fire. Safety in the stars.
Nights spent finding myself in the stars.

Days spent hiking up hillsides and rolling back down,
I learned that home is where your solid ground is –
that the earth is strong enough to hold all of us,
strong enough to contain all of the love and fear –

Like the ocean, the sand. Long hours spent in the water.
Waves were the first thing that really scared me, filled with the kind of raw power
that shakes you and reminds you that you were born to live.
Salt water dried up on my skin, I walked away stronger.
Waves turned to seeds, fertilized by thoughts.
Fading ocean air and sweet eucalyptus on the breeze,
hair whipping and tangled with sand.
Salt and bark and dirt must be threaded into my bones by now.

I wonder at these moments, I wonder at the elements
that have weaved themselves so intricately into my memories
and I wonder if we are strong enough to grow up,
while still remaining childlike and full of awe;
To own our actions, and to treat our planet with respect;
To acknowledge that we owe everything to the ground we walk on;
To happily give back. To reciprocate.

I want the trees to still be standing when I’m too old to stand.
I want there to be places that scare me with their wildness
and places where my future children can go to learn.
I want them to have a land to love, to be able to love
the trees and the dirt and the waves unabashedly.
To be inspired by nature’s grandness,
To be frightened and amazed by their own relative smallness.
I want everyone to love like I’ve loved.

I want us not to be held back by our fear.
Isn't fear so essential to life? To be dwarfed by something incomprehensible,
How love and fear alone could form a basis for my being,
my being in the ocean and learning to swim,
my being in the trees and learning to climb,
something simple. Like feeling my own humanness
with my bare feet in the grass and dirt.

With the same intensity that I love my childhood memories of growing up with nature,
I find myself gripped with a fear that those bits of nature might disappear,
that the ocean will cloud and fill with trash, that the trees will be chopped down and replaced
With man-made devices of carbon capture that offer no branches for climbing
And drop no sticks for playing with;
I fear that our lights will overpower the stars completely,
And that we’ll have nowhere to lose ourselves.
That we’ll have nowhere to find ourselves.

My fears feed fuel to my fire.
I learned from the ocean that fear makes you grow,
reminds you of what’s most important, and offers you a chance to make something.
For now, I offer you something earnest and vulnerable:
A plea.
Reversing the damage we’ve done to our environment will require all of us, working together.
It will require a childlike boldness, a reclamation of limitless love,
a desire to better ourselves, a willingness to ask questions
and follow our curiosities.
And it starts with one.

Jump with me.

Fading away, like a music.
No jolts, no sadness.
Just a beautiful face.
Religious sacrement is ambiguous.

Failed priests. Another age.
But why would you sacrifice?
Offering instant gratification
to the masses.
Malicious intent is still intent.
Another dimension. Another reality.
Goodbye.

Who do I listen to?

Perhaps you should have stayed
silently, creating something
special with your studies.
Build your wealth,
employ your sciences only with
amazing goals. Ah, my brain.

Must charter the universe.
There is no web, there is no
spider weaving. Only matter.

Matter and history.
Learn from us, your bitter
ancestors, the sweep of evolution.
The great story, you martyr.
You seem reluctant.

The shores, they lick at your
ankles. Salt deposits and foam.
All that is, or ever was.
Contemplations stir.

Leave us alone, without our
sensations of grandness.
I need not your preaching,
your sadness, your dust.

Tiny planetary moulding rock.
Simply dangerous and promising.
Why must I trust another speck
with my entire life? My fate?

It is my own truth, filled with
speculations and masturbations.
Exquisite relationships only
fill me with tainted deepness.

Some part of me knows.
That Ocean is entirely my body.
Starstuff and dust.
My journey begins in my skull.

Tapping my temple, I pull apart
the dandelion puff and bite
the bitter milk.
The blood, plants scream when they
are plucked.

Their juices are not for such as I.
First voyages and scienctists
are better than my own cries.
The depths of embedment are vast.

Birth, live, death, tumultuous.
Jets of energy, my core is
incinerated.
Detroy all in our path.
A splash in my pond, step, step.
A ring, your iris it shines.

Holy local groups, I find.
Containing island chains.
Only 2 million years from home.
Passing over our satellites.

No more writing, no more stars.
Gravity prevails and globes unite.
Centres are millions strong,
like a swarm, a sun, the bee has
stung.
Impossible to stuff the guts.

Spiralling in nothingness.
Arms turn, turn away. Turn from
my face. Curdles outside.
Our home is orange and wide.
Blue in the obscure waters, we
have evolved.

Such intelligence is no indication
that any edge-on view is right.
Please, don't tell me what to believe.

The eyes of the sun arise
Yet every heart is still unopened
The ocean filled with water of lies

My sight gaze upon their smile
So pure, so whole, so heartfelt
Yet their metamorphosis is what hinders them from the light

Rivers of blood shadow the essence
Blade on blade
The sounding cry have reached the heavens

A sleeping lotus in my hand
Raindrops fall begging it to bloom
Yet still its petals hide away around the grandness

My peace I have sowed within the lands
Only waiting is left to withstand the parasites
And maybe one day they will understand

I stand on the temple above
With my hand close to heart
Hoping every creature would again learn to love

Encounter
The confessions of one who searches for souls
They exist in all walks of life but the one thing they are not is common I see them in the republic
Convention their passion their desire and expectation streams to the fore front but my heart and mind
Probes deeper admiral is their sense of duty to their country but it can only satisfy and answer outer
Needs yes it can push their back up against the wall bewilder them frustrate them that all they believe in
Is being undermined when the world seems to fracture oh precious one your steps are taking you to the
Government that is invisible ancient without days a tear in time reveals a rich fabric it flows as it were
Mere silk even so it has held kings and kingdoms in power the corridors you pass through are breathless
Edifices of such incomparable grandness spectacles they are anchored in rhythms of timelessness only
A voice persevered them allowed them to endure glory struck a chord no buttress or foundation this
Was free standing it created borders gave substance to the unknown wisdom and character was it’s
Sole strength that gave a pantheon of marvel that stretched over land mass and sea it was seamless
There was no discord peace pours forth from its trumpets expelling all dread majestic pillars rise on air
Alone stand in awe and wonder the panoramic parade of the past will engulf you He says come and
Reason see for yourself if I am not good the swell of mighty seas will entreat you will be adrift in a trance
The wide expanse will glow and the content will be your dreams openly viewed hurts and cares will
Be countered by such tenderness that you have never known in this world we mingle our tears they
Fall where your wayward steps take you we pace the night in agony because we have a shield as
Armaments that will protect you give you assurance where life blows strong winds of doubt we have
Assurances that will bend these and all contrary winds these words here written is the manifesto
That a soul searcher carries it is the Holy Grail it cannot be abdicated or abrogated no power exists that
Can supersede this power that is robed and clothed in love once you join yourself to this cause even
Beyond death your voice is and advocate the striking force that deems everything of no consequence
Until the treasured soul be secured they wear a garland of victory all the stains every demeaning aspect
Of the former life is absolved no one holds the ability to inflict in any measure discomfort or sorrow I
Swear this by His name the true words of one who loves souls and searches at all costs for that which
Is priceless

I see no clouds
by my eyes,
no air be stills these
powder blue skies.
Smoke curls through
the sun scattered trees,
a whisper of bliss,
a touch of green.
A monumental grandness
disparages naivety
of a summer breeze.

Needs of us all

I could give this so many titles but giving is the ultimate theme and it would all stop before it starts
Except for one great and precious truth He said be Holy as I’m Holy with the fact my grace is sufficient
For thee in the great body that is life I can come to you in the best since of the word love your neighbor
As yourself that covers everything that is near and dear to us all if you cry we are told to do the same
Sympathize empathize be a haven in another one’s life storm be stalwart be an anchor when all is in
Tumult as the sea is wroth or the sands are shifting and blasting from a great wind you have the power
To create a culvert from the wind with earthen hands and arms you make a fortress symmetrical that
Matches every particular that makes up the attack the great I don’ts I don’t have mix into your life
My negative attitude or worse I don’t have to weaken your success and resolve to be the best you
Can be by the worst case scenario of myself dragging myself out of Sin’s cesspool after my own idiot
Actions to follow my own lust instead of marching myself under strictest orders get it under the blood
The soul cleansing the refreshing the flood of joyous waves crashing over my head bring that across
Your threshold not coming with my arms around the necks of our most ardent enemies giving them
The power to get within striking distance of your own heart that now has became a whole lot less
Defensible by my callous disregard for wholesome and right living there is so much to choose from
For the visit and by all means leave the thorns and sharp words behind that someone spoke against
One of our friends at a moment of weakness and anger but heartily praise them you won’t be able
To measure or detect it but they will have grown proportionately to the wisdom and good will you
Sent to them unawares and it works the other way too they would be diminished and harmed there is
Great power for good and evil in words and thoughts we are gifts that come with beautiful ribbons and
Bows that are all aglow to those that are crest fallen or to those that are happy we add more joy of
Abundance but first we need to infuse ourselves with costly fragrance that can only come from walking
In the garden of his all indwelling love and care it’s never sparse or lacking only we make it so by
Our haste and neglect of not lingering in the sweetest skies filled with cloud banks of abundant rain
As we enter the presence of our friends lives the soft gentle rain descends from over flowing hearts
That can’t hold such exuberate wonders in check they are to be shared with everyone we meet we write
With our tongues the songs that are meant to be sung for that hour we heard calming birds and streams
Wildly at play these give us focus and bring the grandness of harmony from its shaded shelter the boughs
Of the trees speak softly as they stir in the breeze we find hope in nests in their heights of rest you cause
Others to join you in this flight of discovery because you took the time to temper and add stability to
Chaos that needs but the smallest encouragement when you leave his presence fully renewed and
From his giving you are restored to fullness that does not ask but begs to give with all the heartfelt
Blessings you possess

I see the beauty flowers show;
imagine in the wild—
My oversight before July
had been a blindness mild.
The beetle brought her grandness by
erupting sight untold—

It's like my heart can't contain you.

It's like I've let go of what was needed to let go of

to let you in.

And it's beyond my expectations
like slipping my feet into the beach

and finding my toes
underneath soft, warm sand
warmed by the sun.

And for so long I've denied myself
happiness.

And for so long I've forced this picture that what I want

is better than what I truly need.

And I'm trying to understand why I had to give up one failed romantic relationship

in order to find another that is a hundred times better.

I realized that I had fallen

in love with my own poetry

I'd fallen in love with myself again and again and again

never truly allowing myself to fall
in love with anyone in reality
because my fantasies were so much better.

And then I met you

the beach, the sand, the cold lip of water lapping against my ankles
the submersion of water, salt, seaweed, and foam

your warm hand in my own
fingers latching

the beautiful sunrise
softly, strongly touching
a horizon stretching so many miles away but in one swift look

I saw balance. I saw joy. I saw the colors I've always loved and hoped to see one day.

It's like my heart can't contain you.

And the ocean is calling me home.

That giant expanse of glistening water reflecting the sun's willful welcome as a new day begins

so daunting so beautiful so overwhelming in its stark grandness

so familiar this feeling.

It's like I've known you for a very long time.

It's like I've found myself smiling with the waves now pressing against my gut

white sea foam dissolving quickly
tickling my torso
making me laugh
loud belly laughs
mouth stretched wide and daring
teeth showing
eyes crinkling
body shaking
legs trembling

The ocean of your love

is calling me home.

Am I ready to dive deeper?
Am I ready to submerge not just my torso but my head as well?
What if I can't breathe underwater?
What if I can't open my eyelids?

It's like my heart can't contain you.

But then I touch my neck

and find gills.

But then I touch my eyes

and find goggles.

And then I know

that I'm ready to dive.

You know for centuries politicians have been trying to push their correctness on to everyone.  It's usually the first lady that does this as part of some etiquette program or something.  Etiquette is okay, I guess.  But, when you think about it, the only ones who really NEED to be politically correct SHOULD be the politicians.  Why would anyone who is NOT a politician be required to practice political correctness.  Why would a baker need to be politically correct, or a news anchor.  (Well, maybe a news anchor.)  But, an accountant or a cashier or a bus driver or a police officer.  They would have to be cashierly correct or accountantly correct or policely correct.  Wouldn't they?  Political correctness should only have to apply to politicians.

  As for me, All I really have to be is poetically correct.  Yes, there IS a thing.  You can look it up if you don't believe me.  Ya know, I was thinking about poetry the other day and I remembered poetical correctness and what it was all about.  It's been stated before by many and I'll try to explain it to you, to the best of my memory.

  To be poetically correct one must never use words that are negative or profane.  One must always use soft words that flow easily.  Words that produce warm feelings of sensuality and never words of hatred.  You must be descriptive when you speak of the spotted toad with the red stripe on its head and the shine that bounces off his slime when the sun shines through the tall trees of the forest where the rock he is perched on  sits parallel to a beautiful babbling brook.  Love and nature.  That should be the two things that one should write about.  Love and nature.
And the nature of love.  And one's love for nature. Or the nature of nature and the love of love. But, maybe they're not that much into nature.  Maybe they love the city and its grittiness.  Well, there you go ruininging the grandness of a city with description.  Poetical correctness.  Always think poetically and not politically and that's Poetical Correctness.

there’s something uplifting about looking up at my window.
no matter the time of day, as long as the slats are open,
if you look up and out, you will see the tops of trees and open sky.

in the early evening, it reminds me of you.
the blue is fading to a duskier shade, like that of your eyes,
and the leaves of the trees shine a yellow-brown as the sun hits them;
they sway in the breeze, just as your hair does.
the light is warm and gentle and brushes against the white of the open panels
and glances off the wall to the right, painting my room in aureate hues.
I remember having all the time in the world to watch you during these hours,
having all the time in the world as you slept or fiddled around in my bed.
sometimes we would lay entwined and my fingers would brush over your stubble
as your hands grazed through my hair and up and down my side.
your lips would brush against my skin as the leaves brushed against each other outside.
no noise, no chaos. just our breathing and the dimming light the sun provided.

the early evening is the calm before the night and the madness it brings.
gold and glory and grandness and grace,
a warm haze of gradual darkness descends as the haven melts away like the hours we spent.
the sun lights up the sky in vivid pinks and oranges,
leaving bruised purples and navys in its wake.
you left as it set. your mood reflected the bruises the sun left in its abrupt departure
and I longed to paint you in pinks and oranges and the blazing, brilliant red it became
before it disappeared beneath the horizon, just as you did when the car door shut behind you.

Mistakes become badges
You wear on your sleeve
Preaching "humility!" "kindness!"
Things you have learned the hard way

We stumble, and fall
To only sometimes get up
And walk away from the rubble
That is the monument to the past

We must remember that waves
Are just parts of the largeness
Of the grandness
Of the ocean

And that all things
Are caused by other happenings
That are caused by other instances
That weren't out to get you

We are all the same
In that we are all different
In that we are all struggling
Towards a mountain's peak

What I wish I was taught
Years and years ago
(Or maybe it's just something
I wished I listened to in the first place)

Is that there is no mountain peak
That what really brings all of the everythings of wishes
Is recognizing the wind that rustles a leaf
On a struggling plant on the bottom of a forest

That the insignificance is the importance
That the smallness is really overwhelming
In meaning and truth

When we notice the path we are taking, we find the answer to ourselves:
Always mistakenly thinking it lead to a mountain of happiness,
But realizing it's really a road of joy we've been on the whole time.

in erectile functions or asexually
the ideas that give meanings or rises
or raise the honor guards rifles;

complicate the pool with lust genes
surprise me in profundity
or praise the humble

help yourself by helping another
don't accept blindly what is handed out
consider the futility

of grandness in you and houses and material things
just once
let it

reproduce
a kinder heart in us in me
in you

Here it rests,
Splayed over lawn
Like a drunk old man
Finally lost legs and fallen.

Held fast through tempests
Long before I was born,
Sworn timeless -
Grandness embracing our sky,

Now crumpled, helpless
Across fence, on grass.
Numberless the seasons birds'
Nests were welcomed -
Summers alive with tapping
As woodpeckers hammered
Their homes in its branches,
Leaving as young were
Done with its shelter.

In Autumn, I once watched
A squirrel scamper a limb,
Disappearing, somehow, within.
Their secret's now obvious
As I can see the trunk was
Eaten hollow and empty.

The poor dumb giant
Spoke only when breezes
Animated leaves in evening,
Never given voice of its own
To decry those insults,
Feeding sweet fruit, instead,
To those creatures that ate
Of the strength held within.

Vibrant green life in spring
Was a veneer too thin,
As in living a lie
Finally admitted in sighs
Of the wind.

Bitter Water

This is prompted by the death of TV actor Peter Breck the emotion is defiantly not nostalgic
All though it can cause that strange feeling of bitter sweet sorrow no his is the images and the loveliness

Of the man to catch that certain something the endowment of grace that is set apart and alone
Expressions that linger like the sight and smell after a fresh rain as if you tried to hold that which is

Exquisite and fragile it can only be observed and honored but never possessed it is the richest and rarest
It is life’s human brevity like art’s master pieces they appear unbidden they blaze they ignite the very air

Then evaporate but at times the right person is there when contact is made and they are gifted in a way
That they are not only able to capture wonder and appreciate it but they are able to reproduce it in the

Most extraordinary way that baffles and enthralls everyone else with shadings of colors that are alive it
Parades magnificence in common paths that cause the piece to resonate the divine impetus of creation

Spell binding earthmoving in the true and great idea of what art is supposed to be to see what is
Forgotten and missed by most but through intensity of vision you quell chaos peace assuredly is

Harnessed a new never was it viewed in this dimension and grandness of scale impart to me thy secrets
And give visitation to strains that are the bleeding forth of Heavenly deigns in the mix of earthen woes

Treasures are indifferent to me after this awaking I wonder seeking another glimpse and then at a great
Distance the slightest glimmer a tiny spark of promise causes the eyes to brighten the pulse rate to

Increase you are closing in on the mystifying impetus of creative power you begin a dance that recedes
Only after fire has spent its glory through your veins such was the life Peter lived and gave to us all
Thanks Peter you will be sadly missed

Still Thin Canvas Walls
What good thing could come from such humble surroundings it’s nothing like the original tabernacle
Made from badger skins but the battle rages in modern life the wounded lie in great tragic sprawls just
Add your city’s name that will suffice wounds of alcohol, ***, drugs, bitter was the fight but the
Conclusion was already cast men and women are highly susceptible to these diseases there isn’t a
Natural antidote quickly wariness robs all strength the fallen lie strewn in the most pitiful scenes to even
Raise their head takes great effort what about the great mortared churches that stand in grandness on
So many blocks in America the already saved and righteous go there effortlessly but a war takes mobility
You have to go to the front lines be abreast of the battle line conditions one day the battle rages fiercely
Then the next clear across town the enemy strikes if transfusions are the single most necessary act in
Natural battles then so is it in the spiritual battles only the blood can clean and doctor the wounds and
Bring complete healing prayerful condemnation of that life and refusing to participate any more then
Going down in pure cleansing baptismal waters will usher you to the birthing place of the final solution
As a creation born of the spirit you will never again be over run you can feel and know temptation but
Always a way of escape arrives in the nick of time you now are the spiritual medical team assigned to
Walk among the wounded comfort and show them the way out of the most extreme circumstances
Tell them from knowing personal experience defeat no longer will rule them with a most cruel tyranny
Now they stand at the portal of freedom where richest life ever flows outward until the bright eternal
Day is revealed. Talk if you will at times and speak with a tinge of pride that causes you to practice a
Little Disdain for brush arbors tents and those humbler days but out of them mighty revival flames
Consumed entrenched strong holds of sin that resisted all other efforts to eradicate them Look upon the
Empty field a lone tent stands seemingly so thin and fragile if you could see what the devils see. They
See those they have enslaved walking bent and bowed all that registers on their faces is bitter
Disappointment they had such dreams the highest ideals they walked with their heads in the cloud but
During these tremendous high times something very base was setting traps to remove you far from
Those Cherished dreams lust for drink lust of *** that has nothing to do with love and tenderness that is
To be shared between a man and women or lust for things can bring people to spiritual wastelands
And when your power ebbs away you hear what you hope is the sound of a helping hand but the lowest
And cruelest enemies use this time and place a their choice hunting grounds these bonds are secured
By human default they have no escape fighting is the same as quick sand the harder you fight the
Deeper and quicker you sink but as in natural war the artillery has spotters with powerful glass they
Pinpoint weakness and the targets that best will serve your side it is so in the spirit but here it is the
Searcher that goes forth he looks deeply and with the most knowing sight he sees those that truly want
And will change he calls to those who are free and they rush in with the weapons that are credited with
Tearing down strongholds of the enemy there is no greater joy found than they who have been set free
To walk without guilt and shame and the dread of future judgment is gone you now eagerly await your
Change that will bring to your eternal home and all longing will be forever satisfied.

It was your name I fell for first.
An instant name crush when I saw it –
two names I’d never have considered putting together,
but how beautiful, how unexpected.

Of course I fell for you name first.
Names are so much easier to fall for:
all the possibility in Florence, its softness, its grandness,
all the temptation in the way Delilah slips off the tongue;
the potential for a story about a girl named Ilaria Winter.

-

I fell for your style next, then your hair,
then the way you introduced yourself with both names
and then the way you spoke in class.

I think I stared at you too often, and I’m sorry.
I didn’t think I was being obvious, and I hardly thought
you would notice (someone as boring as) me.

But you must have, and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you talked to me for the first time at the station,
when the train was fourteen minutes late, the moon looked
strange in the sky and I was contemplating jumping onto the tracks.
I’m so sorry you spoke to me at the train station of all places.

Yes, train stations have so much potential for beginnings,
but it’s far more likely they’ll be about endings,
about the fleeting, the slipping, the moments of going separate ways,
the longing for home and the crying into books kind of moments.

-

(But thank you, thank you anyway, for talking to me and knowing my name
and complimenting my hair and my boots and my clothes.
I wish I could have told you I loved the way
the bow in your hair matched your heels but I couldn’t and I’m sorry)

-

How disappointing it is to open something and find nothing in it,
because that’s me and I’m so sorry.
Don’t judge a book by its cover, I guess, because I’ve had to be creative
with my front to conceal the dreary words of my pages.

(And maybe – most definitely – I’m reading too much into this anyway,
but I’m boring and nothing much happens in my boring life (because
I don’t let it and I’m sorry.))

-

But thank for trying (and I’m sorry, so sorry).

-

I just wish you wrote poetry because at least then I could attempt to compliment that.

(and maybe you do write poetry, but I guess I’ll never know, will I?)

(I’m sorry.)

awakening in the middle of the night
I find myself lying there
pondering 12 foot ceilings
opening eyelids to the space above my head
the tall windows
wondering what the point of all of that space is
aesthetics, historically accurate
to create a sense of largeness, grandness
to draw the buyer in
to provoke a sense of having a better home, a better life?
not very practical
costs more to heat
and cool
difficult to clean
or reach for any other reason
and certainly not inviting shelves for storage.
And at least a gallon more to paint the 12 foot walls.
I conclude that this is simply a waste of space, of money,
designed to please the eye regardless of cost, efficiency or practicality.
just what the people wanted, I guess, if you can afford it.

My eyes probe the mist where it clings to to mountains.
The mountains who stand tall and strong
                                      Who grow darker as they rise Shadows.
They're pitted against the sharp vibrant sky
                                                    That surrounds them, vast, blue, mysterious.
I linger over the glassy river surface  
That reflects the cotton clouds
             And the dark, haunting mountains
             And their huge blue groundskeeper
The river winds and winds,
                            A great thriving knot,
                                                          Untanglable.
That sinks and weaves
And swims
Level with the earth
Equal in grandness
                                                         Acts as home to all
                              All who breath air
All who drink and sleep.
Those who gaze up at towers of green
When the sun is high and summer abroad
They chatter and gather and hunt
They roll in beds of fuzzy moss
                      Growing, growing,
To give life to others
To leave when it's time
                                                        I reach, I stretch
                         My fingers strain
To go there
To escape
So close, so close

                       My hands hit the glass.
The **** jumps the frame.

The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality

The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class

A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence

But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies

Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity

Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled

Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it

Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of

The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity

Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things

So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic

I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding

I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses

But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice

Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more

The glimmer of the ocean

Rush of the trees

Grandness of a mountain above

We all have our dreams
Destinations and paradises in our hearts.

Many of us may see a place as were they belong
even though they have never been there

Despite knowing it may not be for me
My dream is a small cottage by a bay in Maine

Silly isn't it?

These little dreams are what we hold on to
as motivation, something to keep us going

Wether they are ever realized or not
They become a part of who we are

A little fantasy no one can take away

Chaos,
grandness around us, within us
our pasts and our fates,
the heads and the tails you bring us,
nothingness,
mistress, our all that is free and forbidden
forgiven, forsaken, forseen and forsworn;

Our endlessness,
countless infinities that you defy
our unbreaking circle of charities your grace is defined by;
our mother, our barrens of space who is bearing existence;

our eminence,
baroness, dancing the torments of pregnance
our sorceress, chanting the songs of emergence;

our senses and souls,
your spawn, your kin, your death and your sins
our servant, your serfs
kneeled down and bowed over
your lust that is shameless, yearned for and proud,
raised up and all that is tall afly
your will that is mindful, yearning, forgiving;

our Godesses, our locks and our keys,
around us, within us, the now and the here,

listening through the ears of machine elves
our absolution from words uncertain;

speaking through colours of clockwork glyphs
our faith to bring magic into our lives;

teaching through picture puzzle pattern cellar doorways
our choice to approach whenever we wish.

You are awareness. We are mindful.
You are presence. We are eternal.

I’ve been wandering
In the city of monuments
Where everything is grand
And old and new
And presents a promise
Of great deeds

I’ve been inspired
By the masters of old
Who dedicated their lives
To art and thought
And brought us closer
To a passionate force

I’ve been humbled
By the grandness of eternity
The beauty of tranquility
The artistic infinity
A stark contrast
With my own humility

Rome, my Utopia
Where God and man alike
Wander in awe
Dreaming of a time
Where time was relative
And dreams came true

Rome, my Utopia
Where I wandered in awe
Inspiration by my side
Admiration in my mind
Dedication in my heart
And Rome all around me