““Ashes”, we once thought, but the embers in our eyes might have bought us time.”

Let yourself go a little wild, a little rough around through the edges; the human spirit wasn’t meant for carefully-curated perfection.

I erected cities with adoration on my tongue and you burnt mine down in the wake of your love.

You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.

Can hope bloom in the shade? Can time give back what it takes away? I once saw the answers to life in your eyes; now I can remember the words to goodbye.

In the absence of you I look to the moon and pray that the stars light my way, too.

If we are what we love, Then I am whatever you are made of.

I fall headlong into everything that lights me on fire. I know not of restraint. I was born to burn.

Anxiety is living with an apple on your head and you imagine that everyone you know stands watching with a bow to shoot an arrow at it.

The stars are where we came from. They orchestrated our return to the place we can always come home: our ancient, timeless love.

You are what it feels like to watch the final silvers of sun fall and die into the silver ocean; tangerine sky giving way to moon-glow and starlight.

We weren’t written in the stars; all that glitters wasn’t ours.

Last night, I sent you home with a kiss and a promise. I hope you still believe in roses.

Our story bleeds from my eyes until I cannot tell the stars from streetlights.

Standing in your power scares a lot of people. You become something formidable, intimating, and aspirational all at once.

Poetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.

Do I look as good as I remember, Looking back at you from over my shoulder, smug as the devil?

Cities and Thrones and Powers Stand in Time’s eye, Almost as long as flowers, Which daily die.

From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.

Can hope bloom in the shade? Can time give back what it takes away? I once saw the answers to life in your eyes; now I can remember the words to goodbye.

The glory of the garden lies in more than meets the eye.

When I could not see the light with my blind eyes, I blamed not my eyes, but the sun.

A writing may be lost; a lie may be written; but what the eye has seen is truth and remains in the mind!

Any fool can turn a blind eye but who knows what the ostrich sees in the sand.

Loneliness is the first thing which God’s eye named not good.