“I write from my heart, perhaps that’s why my words often bleed.”

Silence is a form of poetry.

The best way to be misunderstood is to care too much.

I’m tired of looking for love in people. I now get my fill from nature.

The loudest voices are often the ones that aren’t heard.

Nostalgia seems to haunt me these days I wonder if it’s old age or just a phase.

You feel like the moonlight, mysteriously dark its blinding.

Poetry, music, and silence.

I’ve chased after sunsets too many times to know how precious time is.

You complete me.

Do not tell me how to feel just because you can’t understand.

Sometimes I get my youth confused with age.

Give me love and I’ll show you unconditional.

I miss you even in my dreams.

Love, if true, stays when all else is gone.

Regret is a time travel in a world where time only moves forward.

Can I write you into existence?

The older we become, the more difficult it is to fill our hearts with wonder. Only God is big enough to keep filling us with wonder.

Skin on skin his heart beat an orchestra against her chest. Love never tires of music like this.

By the practice of meditation, you will find that you are carrying within your heart a portable paradise.

The love that flows through your heart purifies not only your own spirit, but the love you share with others.

When she holds me close to her chest – her heart speaks to me.

The autumn breeze carves out an ache in your memory.

Sworn enemies. Past lovers. What did either of our hearts do to deserve this. You were poetry to me.

Amnesty International adopted me as a prisoner of conscience, and that led to my – it touched me in a way that really led to me opening up my heart, I’ve called it the re-humanisation process.