You are not my children,
tender as you are.
You are not my lover,
though you cause my heart to yearn.
You are not my sun,
or my moon,
or my star.

I set you on this rock;
you will not make me burn.

You are simply sticks,
arranged upon the pyre.
You are clever tricks,
though you flaunt my clear desire.
You are not the match,
or the wick,
or the fire.

I set you on this rock;
To see what might transpire.

You will never be a pheasant's egg to be coddled.
You are only this: a calf led to the slaughter.

I Dodged a bullet but got hit by a train.

...And I will look at you, through the windows to your soul and I will speak from beyond the depths of my ocean. Just as Mother Earth has a heat at her core that only the Sun understands, only you will understand as I speak from this place. Only you will recognise and feel the melodic vibration from my every syllable. I will be completely without fear when I tell you that I will love you until the end of the ages, through the entirety of this epoch and to the next one. I will promise you that I will risk everything to allow a moment of serendipity to unite us again and again, as we cycle through this projected expression called the human experience. For it is only you, and it has only ever been you. You see this love I wish to express in the physical plane, will be one so pure, and one so real that it will emit its own force field, an unbreakable one that allows a poetic unity to blossom fruit never tasted before. This beautiful unity - one without *******...

This heart has been
The smallest boy in the
Schoolyard.

Picked on, punched.
Called names, pointed at
With raw laughter of the

Cruel, cruel kind.
Grew skin as solid as its
Ability to draw

Lines, and stand for them.
I will not accept.
Sometimes pulse

Is the heart
Beating
Back.