“This spring along with flowers, I hope you bloom as my love has, one season too soon.”

Stay with me in this inferno and together we’ll watch the world burn.

If this should end in fire come, fill this desire.

It is not the world I fear but what becomes of me; when you disappear so understand it is you I cannot sacrifice with you in my life-I’ll suffice.

If you are a painter my love, then I will be your writer.

Tell me about the city you grew up in, how you like to take your tea let me see the world through your eyes; be the muse to my literacy.

In the cold you left me, that is how my love for you came to be.

You shall have all that is in this garden.

I loved you as Icarus loved the sun, too close, too much.

I want a love that meets me half way. A love filled with chivalry as if it were written in old days.

Who am I to write about love when I don’t know the very definition of it, It seems, love itself does not favor me.

In each passing day, I hope I love you less but somehow this love stays and my heart is yours nonetheless.

If I can have what I want then I’d have the stars the moon, the skies and a love where it shines through your eyes.

For the rest of my life I will stay by his side. A union this world could never divide.

In my heart where I’ve built a wall, you grew loving vines in my days of doubts and gray clouds, you said; “in my eyes, darling you shine” Maybe you loved me then but I know, I loved you too late.

In your song let me be the words & in two we don’t have to sing in thirds.

Come & see how my heart came to be it is bare for you to see as proof these poems are the tangible forms of my heart.

Thanks Darling for the beautiful flowers and all the prayers. Now can you just get my puppy past security?

The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.

But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, it’s bloom is shed; Or, like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white, then melts forever.

Beautiful flower, grow untamed.

I think you’re made of flowers, how you bloom when there’s light in your skin.

All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid.

How many perils doe enfold The righteous man to make him daily fall.

As one sits here in summertime and listens to the cuckoo and all the other bird songs, the crackling and buzzing of insects, as one gazes at the shining colors of flowers, doth one become dumbstruck before the Kingdom of the Creator.