Friday, February 29, 2008

The Bookstore (13-Dec 13-2007)

It's been a busy and difficult day but since this is a daily poetry blog, I decided I should keep up. I picked something from my recent happier times with my beloved. This one is particularly painful because it is a combination of a shared moment combined with looking forward to what I believed was our future.

The Bookstore

The weather outside is cold
as my lover and I move hand-in-hand
through the rows of books.

She takes a copy of something from the shelf
and thumbs through the pages
as I look at her.

She catches me looking
but before she can tell me to stop
I pull her near and kiss her.

I do not hear the book fall to the floor
as we wrap our arms around each other
holding tightly.

Life outside can be cold
as my lover and I move heart-in-heart
through the rows of shadows.

Whatever we take from the shelves
we thumb through together
as we look to each other.

When we catch each other looking
we look back and smile
and pull together.

We do not hear the chaos around us
as we wrap our arms around each other
holding tightly.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

On Being Perfect (28-Feb-2008)

I'll let you decide if this was ingenious or just plain lazy but I decided to complete three of this week's assignements in one poem. So here for your consideration are the Poefusion Friday 5 and 3WW in the ReadWritePoem requested pantoum form.

On Being Perfect

He tied his life in parcels small
Each bound tight with bits of string
Then hung with care upon a wall
Apologies owed for not a thing.

Each bound tight with bits of string
A mural made for all to see;
Apologies owed for not a thing
His life so tidy; nothing free.

A mural made for all to see;
Considered him in light so bright.
His life so tidy; nothing free,
So all his faults could not take flight.

Considered him in light so bright.
Dilated eyes with vision blurred
So all his faults could not take flight
His past in present deep interred.

Dilated eyes with vision blurred
His life to all now unkempt seemed.
His past in present deep interred
And distant gone was all he dreamed.

His life to all now unkempt seemed
Yet in such light no place to hide
And distant gone was all he dreamed
His muraled wall the truth decried.

Yet in such light no place to hide
His parcels seeping poison stored.
His muraled wall the truth decried
A heart of vinegar his reward.

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Just (8-Dec-2007)

I was looking through my old stuff for something to offer and came across this. I like it because it reminds me of a happier time and also because it fits in with the request at Read Write Poem for repetition. I'll admit it's a tad cheesy but I like it anyway.


Without her I am
Just a man

Any other hand on my hand is
Just a hand

A day without her is
Just a day

Words from lips other than hers are
Just words

Life without her would be
Just a life

The embrace of another is
Just an embrace

But her embrace is
Just amazing

And with her life is
Just beautiful

Because her words are
Just all my heart requires

In a day with her which is
Just what life is all about

While holding her hand which is
Just what I need

Because with her I am more than
Just a man

PWB Poetry Tag 2

This poem started at PWB.

Tag Poem Two

Gasping for breath
like this is the end
Loosing the light

Would you like to add the next line. Here’s what you do:

Be the first to post TAG in the comments. Then take these lines and add one, in a post on your own blog, along with these instructions. Whoever adds the nineteenth line then takes the poem to Poets Who Blog and puts the whole poem in the comment section there. Each person who plays need to also mention what site you were at when you found the poem so that other bloggers can follow the breadcrumbs back to this poem. You can play more than once but not twice in a row.

So who is next?

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Repeated Story (26-Feb-2008)

This is in response to the Monday Mural at Poefusion. At first it didn't speak to me at all and I was going to take a pass. But my daughter said to suck it up and try it because it might help me break out of the rut I've been in. So I stared at the picture and this is what resulted.

Fairy by Mariposa Viajera

Strings and wings and feathered things
Brazen flaxen hair.
Tomb and gloom and earthen womb
Fabled maiden fair.

Ships and lips and guided hips
Unforgiving moon.
Keys and bees and flowered trees.
Lovers living tune.

Kiss and bliss and spider hiss
Pregnant falling tear.
Round and round and ever round
Unforgotten fear.

Rooted (25-Feb-2008)

This is a response to the poem. site free-for-all. This one is both an acrostic in the first letters and a "hidden message" poem of the kind I first wrote as an assignement from by lost beloved (The Future).

If I'm lucky, Michelle will choose five of the odd words I use here for this week's Friday 5 at Poefusion :-)

paisley pointed out that this will work for the latest Totally Optional Prompts call for a message poem.


Fast held am I
each tendrill still
apart from love
requited by you

Amalgam that I bring forth
foundations to know the truth
reality that you foresake
abundance to still the heart
immunity that love denies
deponent to me is this

Monday, February 25, 2008

Nameless (23-Feb-2008)

This is in response to the call for a name poem from the virtual poetry group poem.

I just tore this one off and I will continue to apologize for the redundancy in my subject matter of late but a grieving process takes time. I am actually hoping that some of these assignments will help me generate works from other places. We shall all wait and see. Maybe I should just break down and do something completely trite...


We bound ourselves together
And she named me as her own.

But then she walked away from me
Our name she asks me not to speak.

I am a phantom that lurks about
A mask to hide my hideousness.

How can one survive without
That which others use to find and save us.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Walk With Me (23-Feb-2008)

At the request of Michelle Johnson of Poefusion, I have made an attempt at a Paradelle. This was tough and took the better part of two hours to work out.

Part of my problem was that I wanted to tell a story. As with everything I write lately, the focus is my recent relationship. I chose a specific event, full of hope, that occurred at its beginning but wanted to weave in foreshadowing of its untimely demise. At the end, I wanted a plea that what could have come to pass may yet still.

As always, be kind, as this is the most difficult form I have ever attempted and I found it quite constraining. If you do find a problem with the construction, let me know and I will try to fix it.

Walk With Me

There are paths we should not tread.
There are paths we should not tread.
Moon light pours down as lead.
Moon light pours down as lead.
Paths pours not light as down,
We are lead there moon should tread.

Turn and kiss, my darling.
Turn and kiss, my darling.
Our bier and onions linger here.
Our bier and onions linger here.
Here turn onions and kiss,
Our bier and my darling linger.

Enormous lawn stretches forth.
Enormous lawn stretches forth.
Stand we silent at the tree.
Stand we silent at the tree.
Tree stretches, silent the lawn,
We stand forth at enormous.

Tree stand and moon linger,
Enormous bier stretches forth;
Here at kiss, there as light,
The lawn pours silent onions.
We tread and are lead.
Should we not turn down our paths, my darling?

Scud (23-Feb-2008)

This is my effort at this week's Friday 5 from Poefusion. This was one of the fragments that I mentioned in an earlier post that I started but was unable to complete. I figured this was as good a time as any to force a finish. I know it's melodramatic and overly obvious in its imagery. What can I say? That's where I was at when I started it and I'm still not very far from that place. And anyone who sees a little Pink Floyd in this…well, it’s a perfect album for this emotion.

Incidentally, I think my use of the Friday 5 words are an improvement over my original choices which makes this slightly more palatable to me…thank you Michelle!

I don't actually consider it cheating to use one of the words as the title. Although I admit to having to look up the meaning, I found it a perfect description for what occurs.


From the first injustice
Inflicted as a child,
I started walling off the world.

I toiled long
And labored years
To ensure safety from agitation.

But a gentle storm comes;
Rips through my fortress.
It leaves me without my security.

I am lain barren;
Naked on the grass.
No sun above warms me.

I will begin work anew,
Promising with every brick
That my margin will stand forever.

Once finished,
I will sit here
And crow for death.

Friday, February 22, 2008

Spring (22-Feb-2008)

Maybe I'm sorry I saw the request for a Pleiades because I can't seem to stop writing them and trying new ways to use the form. At least this one comes from a different place than the others.


Something waits beneath the
Soil hides her not from her
Sun showers life melting
Snow cannot cover what
Smells of vanilla and
Surviving until she
Summons the strength to grow

Hope (22-Feb-2008)

I couldn't resist another attempt at the Pleiades form from yesterday. There is actually a lot more freedom in this form than you might expect from reading the description. I do apologize that the subject matter is similar but it's where I'm at right now. As the title suggests, however, I can feel my own sense of hope returning. I have tried to maintain the despair but that's just not who I am...much as I would like to be.


how do we pickup and
how will we move on and
how can we believe and
how shall we belong and
how must I be here and
how can she be gone and
how free are we really

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Inside (21-Feb-2008)

I was going to post one of the poems that I had written to my love but I saw a request on Poefusion via the Poets Who Blog site for attempts at a modern form called a Pleiades. Never one to shirk a challenge, I found it easier than I thought and am actually rather pleased with the result.


if you knock at my door
it will not be in vain
i will stand there within
inconsoled and in pain
intensely intriguing
incompletely insane
immutably unreal

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Pointless Journeys (20-Feb-2008)

Well, I appear to have traded one muse for another. Fortunately, despair is a muse that never deserts us and one I do not intend to let go of. I read Camus' "The Stranger" in high school and didn't really "get it." I do now. I can feel the reality of existential philosophy from the inside out. Life is truly pointless and we are at its mercy...and it has very little of that for us.

I hope it doesn't sound too trite but it's what I feel and where I am at. The mental phrase that started this one was "running round in circles" although that exact phrase didn't make it past the first draft.

Pointless Journeys

You thought you took a journey
Never looking back
But found you made a circle
Running 'round a track.

All those things you left behind
You see them up ahead;
Should you keep on moving
Toward all those things you dread.

You thought there was a purpose
You thought there was a goal,
You felt the motion forward
You felt it in your soul.

But as you turn the corner;
As you round the bend,
You see that what is up ahead
Is not a proper end.

And so we ask the question
If we ever should
Make a start of any journey
And if we ever would
Knowing what we know
And finding what we find
Completely so unable
To leave ourselves behind.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Worthless (19-Feb-2006)

Sleep has abandoned me and I have spent the hours pondering the real reason my love has done the same. Sadly, while I was twice the man with her that I ever was before, I am still only half the human being she is. In the end, I am left to conclude that she knew she deserved more than I could ever hope to offer.

I write this now as I realize she must have seen me.


Wretched, unbearable;
Hopelessly without merit.
Unwanted companion;
Worthless baggage.

Why take on a journey
That which sickens you?
Why drag along refuse
That is better left discarded?

Pointless, powerless;
Painfully without purpose.
Unneeded flotsam;
Useless tool.

Life is too important
To share it with one so menial.
When dressing for a party
Do not wear an outfit so hideous.

There will come a time
When you know you must
Leave behind to rot
That which poisons your soul
In order to move forward
And give the world
What it requires of you.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

It seemed only fair that since I said that "Travel" by Robert Louis Stevenson was my second favorite poem, I should post my favorite. While this one might seem trite and overused, I think there is a lot more meaning here than most people grasp. I think part of my attraction to this one is the intense sense of lonliness which he manages to capture. And there is as much meaning in what is not said in this piece as what is said: what is this journey about; where am I going and where have I come from? Why stop here? What attracts me to rest in this place?

Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson

I thought it might be useful to introduce any readers of this blog to some of my influences. I have always loved Stevenson's work and have always been disappointed that it is often trivialized by being labelled as "children's poetry" as though it were similar in depth and meaning to Mary Had a Little Lamb. Nothing could be farther from the truth. This poem, in particular, is my favorite work of his and probably my second favorite poem. Maybe one reason I like it is that the form is similar in style to the stream-of-consciousness form of my own.

I SHOULD like to rise and go
Where the golden apples grow;—
Where below another sky
Parrot islands anchored lie,
And, watched by cockatoos and goats,
Lonely Crusoes building boats;—
Where in sunshine reaching out
Eastern cities, miles about,
Are with mosque and minaret
Among sandy gardens set,
And the rich goods from near and far
Hang for sale in the bazaar,
Where the Great Wall round China goes,
And on one side the desert blows,
And with bell and voice and drum
Cities on the other hum;—
Where are forests, hot as fire,
Wide as England, tall as a spire,
Full of apes and cocoa-nuts
And the negro hunters’ huts;—
Where the knotty crocodile
Lies and blinks in the Nile,
And the red flamingo flies
Hunting fish before his eyes;—
Where in jungles, near and far,
Man-devouring tigers are,
Lying close and giving ear
Lest the hunt be drawing near,
Or a comer-by be seen
Swinging in a palanquin;—
Where among the desert sands
Some deserted city stands,
All its children, sweep and prince,
Grown to manhood ages since,
Not a foot in street or house,
Not a stir of child or mouse,
And when kindly falls the night,
In all the town no spark of light.
There I’ll come when I’m a man
With a camel caravan;
Light a fire in the gloom
Of some dusty dining-room;
See the pictures on the walls,
Heroes, fights and festivals;
And in a corner find the toys
Of the old Egyptian boys.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

The Chasm (15-Jan-2008)

In form, this one is very similar to the poetry I wrote when I was a younger man and I have always liked this style. Altough that might be because I am too lazy to work out poems that rhyme, there is something about the stream-of-consciousness in works like this that attract me to them. They feel like they are being thought at the moment and it gives them an honesty from that rawness. Again, don't sweat the punctuation, it is all intentional.

What's this one about? My love recued me. She took me apart and put me back together the way I was meant to be at a time in my life when I needed it most. This poem is an expression of what she has done for me. The ending is what I had expected from our relationship. Unfortunately, if you are reading the companion blogs, you know that the ending is not quite so happy. That little bird was not as strong as I had hoped and she has fallen into the chasm. I only wish I had been able to do for her what she has done for me.

The Chasm

The gulf, a chasm.
I stand at the edge
Bleeding into the opening.
My life force dripping out.
How can I cross?
Is it too wide?
Will I survive?
Long into the night I stand
Waiting for the sunrise;
Looking for the dawn.

A bird
Small and white,
Gentle and kind,
Lights beside me.
Although the bird looks small and frail,
She is strong.
She flies above me and picks me up.
As she carries me I can feel my own wings grow.
Soon I am able to bear my own weight.
We fly together over the chasm
And into the sunrise.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Goodbye (15-Feb-2008)

My darling wants nothing more to do with me so my journey will not be the one I had hoped for when I wrote the original poem. There isn't much on which to comment. I took the first poem and reworked it to fit the new circumstances of my life. There is a hidden meaning here, but I suspect that I will be the only one to ever grasp it and I will never tell.


Long and Weary.
We stand and look at the
Long and Weary road.
It stretches behind and before us.

I turn and see
That she is not beside me.
She sits and stares
Off into the distance.

I return to her
And touch her hair.
She does not look at me
As I stand by her side.

"But I need you,"
I tell her quietly.
She brushes the tear from my cheek.
"Walk on without me."

I look at her.
My heart is heavy.
My journey will not be easy.
The road is Long and I am Weary.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Somebody Shoot Me (1-Oct-1995)

This may seem like an odd poem for a day such as this but I thought I owed a Valentine gift to any poet who has suffered some of the stuff I've posted. I have always liked this one and consider it my best work. I honestly don't remember why I wrote it but reading it puts me in the same emotional state. If I recall correctly, it is actually a piece of speed poetry written in a moment of sheer torment. Until recently, I had forgotten what it was like to feel anything this raw and honest and deep and passionate. Lately, however, I have had the pleasure and misfortune of feeling again from one end of the spectrum to this.

Somebody Shoot Me

Shoot me where I stand.
Let the blood drip from the wound.
The pool of life
A puddle at my feet before I fall.
The slow-motion fall onto the floor.
The soft dull sound of flesh as it strikes the hardwood kitchen floor.
What would be my final thoughts?
Do I hear the shot?
Do I feel the cold wood as it strikes my face?
Are my final moments ones of contentment
Knowing that this too has passed?
As my vision dims and the sound muffles
Can I still smell the sulfur?
Taste the blood in my mouth?
Can I feel the heart in my chest slow?
Does it all make sense?
Is there a light
Or just darkness?
The final justice.
But at least
It is

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Untitled (12-Feb-2008)

I've been wanting to post something new but I've had trouble finishing any poems lately. I have several pages of half finished stuff which I look at but can't seem to find the words to complete. Some say all poetry comes from pain but what happens when that pain comes from the loss of the muse?

I wrote this today and it took quite a while. Like many of my poems, it started as a phrase which repeats itself in my mind. This particular phrase was "tied-up tiger." It went through several re-writes starting as a simple word pairing which just didn't feel right. The odd punctuation and capitalization are intentional and some thought went into it as is true with all my poetry.

I'm still not happy with it and I must admit that it's not very good. I also have no idea what it means but it touches me deeply and maybe I don't want to know why. As such, I leave it untitled.

Tied-up Tiger
tail help fast;
Captive Corpse
buried at last.

Bridled Bull
horns unfreed;
Held-back horse
without a lead.

Caged Canary
fate unknown;
Manacled Man
stands alone.

Monday, February 11, 2008

A Moment of Clarity (20-Aug-2005)

I was looking through my old poetry and found a couple that were somewhat recent that I forgot I had written. In fact, I remember so little about this one that I don't even know myself what it means or what my own life context was at the time it written. For the much older poems, I can get the life context from the journals in which they were originally penned. I'd be curious as to what this means to anyone.

A Moment of Clarity

You stand naked before the rising sun.
You are stripped bare of all that guards your soul.
You want to hide from the raw heat of the day.

It comes upon you when you least expect.
It settles at your side.
It comforts you.
It leaves and you wonder if it was ever there.
It becomes harder to remember.
It deserts you.

You stand naked before the setting sun.
You are covered over with all that hides your soul.
You tremble as you feel the first fringe of the night.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Untitled (4-Mar-1986)

As promised, here is something I wrote long ago that is pure crap. As I recall, it was speed poetry and I should be ashamed to post it publically. Maybe it will cause you to accept that my other poetry really isn't all that bad. Although it was untitled, I should probably just call it, "Pure Crap."

I love the Sun
And the Sun loves me.
Oh what a wonderful pair are we.

I do sing
and the Sun do dance
And together we nourish the plants.

I know the Wind
And the Wind knows me.
Oh what a wonderful pair are we.

I do till
And the Wind do blow
And together the Earth's seeds we sow.

I hear the Trees
And the Trees hear me.
Oh what a wonderful family are we.

I do run
And the Trees do sway
And together with the world we play.

Friday, February 8, 2008

Kasmira (4-Dec-2007)

This is where it all began. This was the first poem I had written in quite a while and it was all for my love. Now that she has left me, it seems only appropriate to post it. This was not speed poetry and took a while to work out although it still came to me very quickly. There is a sequel inside me that I will post soon.


Long and Weary.
I stand and look at the
Long and Weary road.
It stretches behind and before me.

Long and Weary.
I stand halfway along my journey
And I want to stop.
Must I go on?

People crowd the road
And yet I am so alone.
I sit, ready to sleep.
Why should I rise again?

"Because I need you."
She stands by my side.
She brushes the tear from my cheek.
"Walk with me."

I rise.
My heart is light.
My journey will be easy.
The road is not Long and I am not Weary.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

Alone Again (29-Jun-1997)

Offered without comment except to say that although it was written over 10 years ago, it still means as much to me today.

Alone Again

I stand on a distant shore
And watch the boats pass.
I see people on the decks.
I put notes in bottles in the
hopes that someone may rescue me.
I have been marooned here long.
I wait in vain.

One day a boat comes ashore.
The boat is badly damaged
And the captain begs my help.
In exchange she offers to take
me from this place.
I can go home she says.
It is not far.

I know my little island.
I know how to find things here.
I use them to repair boats.
I can repair any boat except my own
for it has been damaged too long.
It sits at the bottom of the ocean.
The wood is rotten.

By day we repair her boat.
By night I tell her of my island.
She is kind and understanding.
She asks why no-one else has offered
to rescue me for my repairs.
"They have," I say.
She says, "I will."

The day has come.
Her boat is shiny and new.
It will weather many storms.
My repairs have made it seaworthy again
and it will not crash.
She stands on the deck.
I stand on the shore.

"I haven't any room," she says.
I say, "I know."
"I am sorry," she says.
I say, "I know."
"Someone will come for you," she lies.
I lie, "I know."
She leaves.

I stand on my distant shore
And watch the boats pass.
I see people in the water.
I repair boats in the
hopes that someone may rescue me.
I wait in vain.
I am alone again

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

The Apple Tree (23-Mar-1986)

Looking over my old poetry, I struggled to find something that was neither to idiotically flippant or unbearably dark. I may post those eventually for completeness sake but they are a little too open and raw (although that might mean they are better).

So this one, while still a little cheesy, is the kind I use to work on. This probably took me the better part of an hour to work out initially and I may have gone back to it over a period of days until I liked how it sounded.

To be honest, I don't really remember why I wrote was my freshman year in college, so it was for some girl no doubt. I will admit that it makes me think of my love. This is not suprizing since it was she who has put me in touch with the poet that wrote this all those years ago for some other muse.

The Apple Tree

Come my darling sit with me,
Share the shade of an Apple Tree;
And we will talk
And reminisce
And trade our days of childhood bliss.

I don't know you very well,
But can see you have so much to tell;
I want to listen
Please let me hear
Of what you love and what you fear.

And if you want the same from me,
Underneath our Apple Tree;
Then I will give
And you receive
What I do and don't believe.

So let us let the world go by,
While watching clouds form in the sky;
And maybe time
Can slow the days
As in each others eyes we gaze.

Come my darling sit with me,
Share the shade of an Apple Tree;
And maybe when
This time is done
We can walk together into the Sun.

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Spring (3-Feb-2008)

This started out as a speed poem but I quickly decided that it should have a more deliberate feel. I liked the sound of the rhymes and of the paired adjective-noun construction. In particular, it seemed to me to give the poem a feeling of forward motion which compliments the subject.

Don't look too hard for deeper meaning. This is about springtime, my favorite of seasons. There is, perhaps, a bit of my own personal philosophy revealed by the last stanza. While it may seem tacked on and incongruous to the theme of new life, that couldn't be farther from the truth. Springtime is all about love and the awakening of love in us can do spring-like things to our soul. I found that out recently and with the coming of the real spring, this poem speaks volumes about how I feel about the woman I love.


Melting snow
Warming earth
Rising seedlings
Giving birth.

Budding branches
Breathing leaves
Falling rains
Waking trees.

Growing days
Receding past
Living earth
Breaking fast.

Filling heart
Flying dove
Touching you
Feeling Love

Saturday, February 2, 2008

Nightfall (17-Jan-2008)

This one was of particular interest to me because it is an example of how these speed poems "write themselves." When I finished what is below, I kept trying to add a few more lines to increase the hopefullness of the ending to counterbalance the preceeding darkness. But no matter what I tried it just didn't feel right. After a few minutes, I was forced to conclude that there was no more...that the poem was done.

As to meaning, it is particularly personal and timely for me. I suspect anyone in a relationship when they are parted for any amount of time from their love will feel some connection to it. On re-reading it now, I realize that the end is not even as hopeful as I had first felt. The couple in this poem never actually see the sun but are forced to be content in the faith the it will rise again. Maybe that is why the poem finished itself there...because that is where my beloved and I are. But like this couple, I know we both have every belief that the sun will rise and we will be able to turn and see one another in the first rays of the dawn.


Take my hand in the setting sun.
Eyes closed by the darkness;
We are unable to see one another.
Night creeps over us.
Cold fills the air between us.
There is loneliness in this darkness.
No stars
No moon above
To give relief.
Feel my hand.
I am here.
We are still together.
We are not alone.
Wait with me without fear
For the first rays of the dawn.

Friday, February 1, 2008

The Future (1-Feb-2008)

My love gave me an assignment several weeks ago. She prefers prose to poetry because of the way she reads. She thought it would be interesting if there were poems where the words on paired lines had meaning. Of course, I had to give this a try.

Be kind since this is my first attempt at such a form and I know the construction is quite clumsy. I'm not even sure if it's what she had in mind. I also suspect the choice of font is important so I don't know if in the reading you will find the word pairs as it may depend on how your monitor renders it. Personally, I suspect this form would be best suited to paper where the words could be made to stand out by subtle choices in word placement and letter thickness.

If anyone knows of poems that make a similar attempt at this, I would be very interested in reading them.

The Future

A loving couple
Will look to the future;

The warm heart
Will embrace the future;

The passionate man
Will kiss the future.

All that we do
Though we not understand;
All that we fear
Though on the morrow we rise;
All of the future
And all of my past
Brings me love.