"spotless" poems
have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?*
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
Open your heart paint your dream.
Do it in the broad daylight,
it’s your colour scheme.
If the twilight falls on your colour plate
before you’re done painting the noon,
keep drawing down the moon!
Breakthrough at the first light.
No sunrise is any bird’s sleeping pillow.
They are on their wings, out and tweeting,
singing on the past night’s dreamscene.
Any of the fair duo, the Sun or the Moon,
sleek sunny golden or the silver line,
neither one of those can you catch.
They know their science
like you count your time.
You can set your mind any time,
pick any number to count your time,
but you won’t have the last one.
There isn’t one, the mind is spotless fine.
But if the solar-lunar duo can count the last:
ask them to stop the time.
Be truthful as you speak.
Open the heart into your eloquent word.
Never think you are alone, you are
complete with the complete world!
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
Purity is not just about virginity,
It's also about dignity,
Purity is not restricted to femininity,
but requires the protection of chivalry,
and regard for responsibility.
Purity is not innocence out of ignorance,
It's making a choice that's different.
Even when facing a challenge.
Purity is not just about hiding behind a white veil,
Or donning a white spotless gown.
It's about going through a season of waiting,
even if it can be tough.
Purity is not just a state of being,
It's a state of knowing,
valuing and protecting...
The sacredness of a marriage.
The loyalty to one's spouse.
The unity of two to form one flesh.
Not giving up one's body to all the rest,
but leaving it for God's best.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 2:40 AM UTC
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot,
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
Once, long ago,
An old man took me into his shop
And showed me his snowglobe collection.
Every one, spotless,
No trace of dust lining the rims.
I paused to gaze,
No,
Marvel,
At each scene:
Two children ice skating,
A milkman driving his truck,
Ladies reading magazines while having their hair styled.
Every one, spotless,
Until I lightly shook one,
Just enough so the snow sprinkled
The ice skating children,
The driving milkman,
The reading ladies.
But each scene was still, frozen in time,
Still, perfect.
I slumped to the floor,
Heartbroken and tears trailing down my cheeks.
I wanted their life so bad,
But all I could do was marvel,
No,
Gaze,
And lightly sprinkle the tiny figurines.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 11:56 AM UTC
Amazing Grace: your gift for all. So amazing your grace that you would die for us sinners on a cross in shame and agony though sinless yourself.
How Sweet the Sound: to hear "your sins are absolved"
That Saved a Wretch Like Me: Compared to your perfection and glory we are truly wretched. All blackened by sin, but because of your death on a cross not by water or blood, but by water and blood we are saved and washed clean and white. The only chance we have of getting into heaven is by your gift of Amazing Grace.
I Once Was Lost: like a sheep who strays from the flock and wanders off
But Now Am Found: I am safe and sound in your arms once again. You rescue me from danger and bring me back safe and sound.
Was Blind: because of sin and my faults, wrapped up in a blanket of hurting and lies.
But Now I See: the magnitude of this gift you give and because of your death, the pure spotless lamb, and the cleansing blood you shed for me and for many that sins might be forgiven.
'Twas Grace That Taught My Heart To Fear: fear you in a deep respect for your power, fear of not having you always there and fear of satan and the cost of sin.
And Grace My Fears Relieved: I used to fear what would happen if I sinned and I still fear as I should always, but I take comfort in the knowledge that when I sincerely repent, do my best to sin no more, and to avoid the things that lead me to sin I will be forgiven.
How Precious Did That Grace Appear: It is by Grace and Grace alone that we are saved and indeed how precious, how special Grace was as it appeared to me
The Hour I First Believed: The hour I came to believe in you Jesus my Savior who shed your blood, died and rose again that I might live!
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
a dark place,
dingy and cobwebbed:
the forlorn basement
below an unfinished house;
there is no hope
of an HGTV house-flip
or a makeover
or the sort of boring/heartwarming story
where some nice white family
—or conveniently diverse—
sets up shop,
smash-cuts through a renovation
and gets their dream home.
no,
the house will remain gloomy,
this basement filled with emptiness;
no one desires
to come through the door,
no one except the tweakers
and the vagabonds
and the runaways,
the ****** and the pimps,
the celebrities and psychiatrists,
the demons and the ghosts,
the preachers and their seething
congregations of judgmental ******
that live across the street,
and the ***** teenagers
hunting for a place to try out ***
no cleaning crew
or maid service
or organize-your-life guru
or even the most experienced
of all the world’s janitors
could enter this house and clean it
or beautify this basement
or disenfranchise the squatters within;
the neighbors just try
and demolish it
every chance they get,
to rid their sparkling, spotless community
of this disgusting eyesore.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
The mirrior is my adversary.
My eyes variance, what others don't see.
To the word I'm adequate, crowning , spotless, and skilled
Every morning I wake up, get ready and cover my lips in red majestic mac
Red lipstick seems to illuminate confidence in the eyes of many,
but to me it is merely a pigmented shield of secrets.
Humorous isn't it?
Every unmarred life, seeks to relive its pigments
Fears, self-doubt, imperfection.
Mirror, mirror, mirror on the wall..
Who's the thinnest of them all...
The sound of battle rumbles
Conscious at wrists ends
Bawling in me
Fat,
Fat,
Fat,
Yours tricks are foul, you tauntful mind
Vision is blurred from reality,
Oh mind how you love to frolic
Your sheer joys leave me unpieced,
The snickering of my mirror,
Damages my frame.
Sorrowing fades my red lipstick
Pigments revealed,
Vulnerable,
Unworthy,
Marred to the bone
Quickly I learned that the mind is the enemy, filled with con
Staring in my mirror and all I see is fat.
Red lipstick always seems to fade by the end of the night.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
At Ellis Lake, an overcast Sunday afternoon.
A lake divided into two, oddly shaped bowls in the middle of the city, surrounded by a constant stream of birds, wind, and traffic.
A spotless white swan cleaning herself on a grassy knoll, ferretting out whatever filth lurked deep within her feathers, then smoothly sweeping her sideways bent head across her back, as if to remember the long forgotten affectionate touch of an absent lover.
A gaggle of four grey geese combing the lawn for food, waddling in unison side-by-side.
A line of five mallards barreling down the hill into the water.
A multilateral crescent of black and white pigeons receiving harsh dictation from a trio of angry snow geese strutting before them.
A red-faced duck slowly approaching in the quiet expectation of food, then the arrogant acceptance of the lack thereof.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC
Write as flawless as the river,
as spotless as the mirror.
The sky can’t take its eyes
off it because it’s so clear.
If you ever spare
a word or two so pure.
Never wonder how it might look:
simply, it would be just like you.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
they're spotless, no room for human flaws here.
with faultless sense of selves and fragile attributes
are silver stars, whose homes are cold glittered spotlights
pressured, battered and bruised. look away dear, they're "fine"
they're fine, scared and composed until the next plot twist
rarely, ever so rarely - a perfect one slips
a miscalculation on a regular day
phenomena, wasn't supposed to be that way
perfectionism drove them faultlessly insane
when the known consistent road, shatters to eggshells
"ever so rarely", they reason to the mirrors
with guilt mixing in the blood of walking in fear
inner madness unleashing, black swans reappearing
the wrongs, how cruel that it doesn't let them go on
"this is only once in a blue moon", they echo
deep breathes, clutching close, the past's panic they can't let go
Jul 25, 2021
Jul 25, 2021 at 11:46 AM UTC
Fatima Latima
I had wished I had no gift of sight
That the worst I could endure is hear you speak
And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation
You may not be a thief
Nor **** daughter of the dayspring
But definitely my heart you stole
I speak of the daughter of Arabia
Aesthetically, she rocks
The queen of the pilgrim sands
And aeonian desert stones
Beyond the hijab
Artistically knead with consummate craft
Like the relics of Mecca
Blest by the prophet’s bones
The blessed
I see torches
Beaming with intelligence
Within those mascaras
Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant
A lulu class botany
She fixes a searching gaze
As she saunters close
And the stride and tread
Beats a drum entrancing
Soothed in her solacing spell
I give in, to her lullaby
She halts her perambulation
Stands magniloquent and stupefy
Like some pop diva magazine pose
Or Victorian secret shot
A tactical derangement of her gluteals
As she rests her palm in its cleft
I feel contractions, my dartos muscles
The blew of summertime
Gently beats her exceptional form
Her belt submerge her thigh crevice
Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat
Built by the dainties and delicacies
Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef
As her silken dress slithers and gowns
Under the breeze bulging and blooming
Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore
As she bends down
To assuage the burlesque
The sun specula lilts her sensational
Her smile apologetic bids me stillness
I am caught staring
Guzzling down her scent and
Feasting on empty imaginations
Of What If that accentuate the mind and
Speed a hormone
And I pray I sin no more
Next time we meet and I see her again
For I am but a writer
Learning to use my pen and paper
And hope you but forgive
My linguistic impotence
When I make my confession
Employing too plain a language
When I say thus;
Her smile is classical
Her walk magical
Her beauty celestial
Her stride sensational
Her religion ethical
Her character spotless
And that leaves me breathless
And forgive if I step on broken toe
And try speak of the unspoken
Her ****** is sacred
Her being a type that dresses up
In the milliards of brutes dressing down
And shamelessly style it fashion
I must see a priest
One confession I ought to utter
And even vociferate abroad
For once I had fallen in love
With an Arabian Beautie
A ****** of Mecca.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC
It was not, by any means, a loss of faith;
Indeed, her devotion was a boundless, unfettered thing
Beyond proscription, beyond rote chant and catechism,
And what she found as a novitiate
Were shuttered gates and gossipy confessionals,
Standoffish priests, pig-eyed and pinch-lipped
Sisters who thought life’s commerce
No more than mechanical prayer and spotless linens,
The whole enterprise
Smacking of the exclusion of Heaven’s bounty.
So she demurred when the time came to take her orders,
And she returned to the world of pavements and lesser pieties,
Free to seek God on park swings and barstools,
In pleasures of the pastoral and the profane,
Though her faith is no Dionysian walkabout,
As she is passionate to the cusp of maniacal
When it comes to the Book of James’ admonition upon works;
She is often found among the sisters she once tiptoed alongside
At food pantries and clothing drives
(She is scrupulous about ministering to only secular needs,
As the Bishop is not happily disposed towards those
Who choose not to take the veil,
And the specter of excommunication is a prospect
Too awful to contemplate)
Afterwards clambering onto some vaguely roadworthy MTA bus
Back to her studio apartment in Green Island,
Where she often walks down to the Erie Canal lock nearby,
Praying for those who have travelled near and upon the water,
Convenience store clerks and ragged Irishmen fleeing famine,
Feral kittens and insufficiently mourned mules.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
To behold the daybreak!
-Walt Whitman, Song of Myself from Leaves of Grass
In days like this one,
when rain drops so light
& everything dips
into weeping grey
my sanity longs for memories.
My sanity longs
like impulsive recalling
of plummeting sadness
in greying day
sashaying mournful recollects
from sunrise to daybreak.
Remembering vanishes
in the joyful marrow of life.
There, forgetting lives.
Tell me the last time
bliss comforts your soul.
It is a transient tick
too stiff to evoke.
What about the last time
pain feigns your saneness.
Memories turned into bullets
slitting shrapnel
warping into my soul.
Happiness lasts for a second.
Sadness, a lifetime.
Tell me how to get rid
the hurting clout of ache
existing as a blunt fragment
benign yet reminisced.
Daybreak pours so hard
and my sanity like a waning light
crawls back in a miasmatic cave
along the river known
to be a home of a witch
& her cursing narrative
of throwing silver saucers
making her a spotless shadow
through vestal times
never again a thriving spirit.
Forget Blake. Forget Whitman.
Only in daybreak
where everything
churns into life,
my sanity shrinking back
collapsing
into surreal gaps.
Here & there,
my sanity longs for memories.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
Mary queen of heaven be
a calm for every storm we face,
Mary queen of heaven be
a constant reminder of God's grace.
Mary queen of heaven be
a soothing peace for all our fears,
Mary queen of heaven be
a source of joy through the years.
Mary queen of heaven be
our strength against demonic foes,
Mary queen of heaven be
emotional salve for all our woes.
Mary queen of heaven be
the love that guides us day by day,
Mary queen of heaven be
the voice that shows us how to pray.
Mary queen of heaven be
in oppression our quick relief,
Mary queen of heaven be
the shining beacon of our belief.
Mary queen of heaven be
the kindness we must pass along,
Mary queen of heaven be
the heartstrings playing our soul's sweet song.
Mary queen of heaven be
present in our daily prayers,
Mary queen of heaven be
advice and counsel for our cares.
Mary queen of heaven be
our cooling breeze and gentle rain,
Mary queen of heaven be
the spotless place for all our stains.
Mary queen of heaven be
the joy whenever we rejoice,
Mary queen of heaven be
our ears to hear your sacred voice.
Mary queen of heaven be
in the sky our rising star,
Mary queen of heaven be
a constant presence never far.
Mary queen of heaven be
here beside us everyday,
Mary queen of heaven be
our sunshine when the skies are gray.
Mary queen of heaven be
our protector, fortress, shield, and shade,
Mary queen of heaven be
love's foundation forever laid.
Mary queen of heaven be
the brilliant colors nature brings,
Mary queen of heaven be
the beauty of a butterfly's wings.
Mary queen of heaven be
the subtle whisper of dawn's first light,
Mary queen of heaven be
the velvet silence of the night.
Mary queen of heaven be
the reason that we celebrate,
Mary queen of heaven be
our perfect patience as we wait.
Mary queen of heaven be
our comfort now and reward to come,
Mary queen of heaven be
our duly noted job well done.
Mary queen of heaven be
our map to everlasting grace,
Mary queen of heaven be
our swift feet to finish the race.
Mary queen of heaven be
the goodness we can clearly see,
Mary queen of heaven be
our guide into eternity.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
You black and white beasts
From the far east,
Oh, how I long to be invited to your panda feasts.
I put on my panda hat with my panda suit,
Tie my panda tie and my panda shoes.
I arrive at your gate with all my panda bling,
But you say, for me to enter, I must wear your panda ring.
That doesn’t sound so bad if that’s all I need to do
To be allowed to enter and eat bamboo with you.
I’ve waited for this moment, longed to be accepted.
But, to be honest, it’s not what I expected.
Although I am so close, and the ring looks nice,
I hesitate for a second, take a moment to think twice.
Is this what my life has come to, debating a “panda ring”?
Enslaved to every whim of the panda king,
Doing what he wants me to, just to be approved,
Once I put that ring on, it cannot be removed.
No, I will not stoop to a panda ring,
I have my own bear song to sing.
As I say goodbye, waving my bare hand,
I notice panda rings on all their bear hands.
Spotless I return, back home to the ice,
Ready to chill out and live a polarized life.
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 7:50 PM UTC
1010
Up Life’s Hill with my my little Bundle
If I prove it steep—
If a Discouragement withhold me—
If my newest step
Older feel than the Hope that prompted—
Spotless be from blame
Heart that proposed as Heart that accepted
Homelessness, for Home—
4.6k
there was a little ladybird she was very sad
she had lost her spots the only ones she had
noticed by an hedgehog who was walking by
he had seen the ladybird as she began to cry
then he asked the ladybird what was the reason why
i have lost my spots she said and dont know what to do
hedgehog said dont worry i will find your spots for you
so they started looking in the forest ground
when hedgehog saw a leaf and on it something round
i have found your spots he said now you can have them back
then of they walked together down the forest track.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 9:57 AM UTC
I am ragged and
Dismembered
In velveteen splendour.
Assembled by a drunk,
Who couldn't remember
What loveliness
Looked like.
I'm too tall for my height.
You are pulpy and bright
Like today's magazines.
Your eyes are spotless like
Ironed jeans,
And they fold and crease
in smiles at me.
You find me funny.
I am sterile and naked
And aching with
Tension.
I'll bend into positions to
Get your attention.
I am fixed in the curb,
and you gather the nerve
to cope with my most
unnerving dimensions.
(I love you. I forget to mention.)
You've never indulged in
petty ***
You wrap my arms around
Your neck,
like I'm a scarf.
I make you laugh.
You've never been
out on the scene.
You've never found yourself
between two strangers
in a darkened room.
Bedroom theatre's not
for you.
Nor costume.
You've never smoked.
You've never drank so much
You've choked
on hot-bodied ***** and
collapsed in the road.
You had four pints of
beer
and I watched you explode.
From your skin I lick atoms of the sky and shampoo.
You are dripping with hygiene,
You are clear, you are blue.
In mirrors you stand and watch me watching you.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 2:00 PM UTC
A lion’s mane would’ve been permed,
zebra would be all white,
spotted leopard would’ve been spotless,
an orangutan would have blonde hair,
an elephant’s tusk would’ve been whiter,
rhinoceros would’ve had smooth skin,
hippos would’ve been skinny,
raccoons wouldn’t have had dark circles.
Need I go on?
Nov 26, 2019
Nov 26, 2019 at 6:08 PM UTC
There's a middle aged woman; she's dragging her feet.
She carries baskets of clothes to the laundromat
while the Mexican children kick rocks into the street;
and they laugh in a language I don't understand,
but I love them.
Why do I love them?
So the neighborhood is dimming as I smoke on the porch
and watch the people as they pass, enclosed by their cars;
on their faces just anger or disappointment.
I start wishing there was something I could offer them.
A consolation, what could I offer them?
And they are sad in their suburbs; robots water their lawn
and everything they touch gets dusted spotless,
and so they start to believe they've not touched anything at all
and the cars in the driveway only multiply.
They are lost in their houses.
I have heard them sing in the shower,
making speeches to their sister on the telephone
saying, "You come home.
Woman, you come here."
Don't stay so far away from me.
This weather has me wanting love more tangible.
Something I can hold 'cause it's getting cold.
I say, "Hold up our fists to the flame in the sky.
to block out the light that's reaching for our eyes."
'Cause it... 'cause it would blind us. Yeah, it will blind us.
Well, I've locked my actions in the grooves of routine.
So I may never be free of this apathy,
but I wait for a letter that is coming for me.
She sends me pictures of the ocean in an envelope
so there is still hope.
Yes, I can be healed.
There is someone looking for what I've concealed
in my secret drawer, in my pockets deep.
You will find the reasons I can't sleep and you will still want me.
But will you still want me? Will you still want...?
Well, I say come for the week.
You can sleep in my bed,
and pass through my life like a dream in my head.
It will... it will be easy. I will make it easy.
But all I have for the moment is a song to pass the time;
a melody to keep me from worrying.
Oh, some simple progression to keep my fingers busy,
and words that are sure to come back to me
and they'll be laughing, and they'll be laughing.
My mediocrity.
My mediocrity.
(and they'll be laughing.)
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 11:52 PM UTC
Almost everything in the fairytales turned out to be true:
Horrible witches, nasty curses, dark demons, and guarded fortresses.
But princesses?
I thought they were figments of our imaginations.
And yet little girls read storybooks religiously, dreaming of winning over the Prince Charming.
Well ladies, you can keep your pristine and spotless princes.
I know where love and honour truly lies.
It is in the dragon's keep,
Where she is locked away and hidden.
The walls of her own heart blocking everyone out,
Burning everyone down who dared face her inner dragon.
But there is determination running through his veins,
Bravery in every bead of sweat,
A fighter's honour gleaming in his eyes.
Breaking down the barriers to find a damsel in distress, he did the strongest thing:
Held the wretch in his arms.
A soldier with the ability to find perfection in the weakest of souls.
My knight in ***** turnout gear,
The firefighter who discovered a princess.
My love who proved the reality of fairytales,
And found our happily ever after.
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
Eyes open
Upon the silent abode
Marvel at me
The heavens echoed
Predicaments dissolve into the trivial
The mind is spotless
You forget the greed, the hate
You remember only the love which intoxicates
Their watchful eyes
Shining upon us since antiquity
Embedded into the skies
An ever lasting source of serenity
Their melody decipherable to wanderers
Providing solace to the adrift
A message from our ancestors
Whispering that clear will be the mist
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC
Lazily, a boy with silvery hairs muttering requiem aeternam
lifts his neck at the piercing radiance skimming off the eyeglasses rim,
and there looms the glory, the spotless sea of blue,
varnishes of spring gloss fuming out of the French coronation robe.
The still-brisk branches hung bent at the weight of vivacity,
sight of maidens whose eyes and grace bath in the full warmth of light,
the kisses on the face of the river by the shower of half-bloomed petals,
just as the stillborn thrills of the beating heart to the splintered fingers of Moirae.
The time of adieu,
the season of life.
The mourning procession amidst the lustily caressing May breeze.
-Primavera, thou name be the sweet irony of the dying flowers
The evening wades in, and the coy face of the mountain blushes;
Thence strides away the man whose gaze speaks of premature nostalgia
Here the wind whispers the rosy delirium from the sakura tree at the far side,
the faintness lushly hazed away by the cloudy veil of bittersweet grey.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
I wrote this poem just for you
With my mind racing and my heart beating
Among amorous feelings and thoughts of you
My love for you is and always will be true
You are my eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
You are the one I can never leave behind
When I first met you I knew it was a sign
You are so implausibly beautiful to my eyes
You deserve the world's grandest jewels
Emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, amethysts
And anything else that money can buy
When we met each other some time ago
From the first time we said 'Hello'
I knew you’d be the one
To bestow my life with love and fun
My words forever fail to express
What I felt when you said ‘Yes’
To a Taco Bell hot sauce packet
That said ‘Will You Marry Me?’
And when I held you near
On the coldest day of the year
When we both said ‘I Do’
And you became my wife
I knew that our love was true
That we’d always be together
To see this movie we call life
All the way thru
We’ve had our ups and downs
But eternal bliss is where we’re bound
Together in each other’s embrace
Everything we long for will come around
You are the only thing I need
I’d sell my words, my talents, and me
If you’d agree to proceed
To be mine everlasting
And never sever our affection
And always retain
This one piece of information:
No matter what comes our way
I will always love you
Each and every day
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 9:22 AM UTC