“She tasted like wildflowers; crushed, wet wild flowers carried in sticky palms through farmers’ fields, just before dawn.”

There is no greater power than that of the sun, the moon, and a woman who knows her worth.

I have God in my words and the devil in my ear, and a sister who keeps telling me to find my magic.

You load your words as I bare my chest, and this will be the most beautiful death.

Poetry is the loveliest art. It has a wretched way of revealing our own character when we think we are judging the poets.

I have known love and I have known loss, but in the end, they both looked a lot like you.

I write because suicide is no longer an option.

Too many times I have given this heart away, I am afraid it is no longer mine.

I think I saw you again in the moonlight tonight, and I swear I could taste the hints of it alll.

On paper I have killed you a thousand times but my heart disregards clever words.

He left love letters at my door, and a chalk outline on the highway.

How recklessly we turn from strangers and blindly back to lovers, to nothing.

He was all dangerous eyes and beautiful lies, but I ached. for him to lie to me some more.

Some souls were never meant to be content.

I like you here, between commas, where the only thing you can break now, is my lines.

He was everything I never could, but always wanted to love.

You love so perfectly, as if you have never been told a heart can be broken.

And when thou art weary I’ll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.

The Path of Love is not a tedious Path. It’s a Path of joy. It’s a Path of singing and dancing. It’s not a desert. It is a valley of flowers.

God is the Seed; The Universe is the Tree, Impulses and passions are the branches, Intelligence is the flower, Pure Consciousness is the fruit, Love is the sweetness in the fruit.

The flowers burn the grass, a thousand splendid suns; and life returns to everything as hope refills my lungs.

Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.

And Spring arose on the garden fair, Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere; And each flower and herb on Earth’s dark breast rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.

Always have something beautiful in sight, even if it’s just a daisy in a jelly glass

The desert weed lives on, but the flower of spring blooms and wilts.