Ah me! ’tis long since I have put to page
The words that rule my thoughts both day and night.
Applicability wanes not with age
These words are true, though only now I write.
I once had thought I’d had a taste of love,
That what I felt had ne’er been felt before.
If that were taste, then this is far above.
This feeling that consumes me I adore.
All praise that’s e’er been given do I give.
All words that have been spoken do I speak.
All lives that have been practiced will I live.
Proclaim it thus to mighty and to meek:
All this, and more, I know, despite my youth –
This rhyme does aught but glimpse upon the truth

I often wonder my thoughts are so.
How have they come to be the way they are?
Their composition’s steady, this I know.
But yet their or’gins’ myst’ry I can’t mar.
Is it our blood that tells us how to think?
Or in our rearing, by our mother’s hand?
By what, then, do we topple o’er the brink
Of instability?  I cannot stand
To think that we do not control our minds,
For they are ours, and operate for us.
And if it’s so, then God must have been blind,
For else could that have been seen a plus?
No, I am sure that I’m the only one
Who tells my brain to think when day is done.

Bequeathing trust is not a carefree act.
We do it wisely, measure it in time.
Apply it where it’s needed, else redact.
Betrayal of it is thus much a crime.
Within my life, I’ve not betrayéd been,
Though sometimes thought I had, for often ’tis
That when our confidence is wearing thin
We see betrayal where it never is.
I cannot judge if I’ve betrayed your trust.
I pray I never have, for in that case
If overpoweréd by greed and lust
I would not find me fit to show my face.
Your trust in me I deem the highest worth.
And I’ve been meant to hold that trust since birth.

In other life, perhaps, I’ve loved you so,
Or other form, or how could yet this be?
That yet the love ‘twixt us could thusly grow
And thrive is thusly wonderful to me.
All well-deserving, only some do gain
The benefit of such a close-kept bond.
And others, looking, spend their lives in vain
Not knowing what of life they’re truly fond.
Pursue it! Do not let it slip away!
For simple pleasures form the base of love.
Securing them, the feeling has its way.
Then peace unites as olive branch with dove.
And thus in virtue do I safely sleep,
And dream of you within my slumber deep.

The ticking clock that counts the seconds by,
That brings to bear the seasons in their time,
That coats the ground with snow; that clouds the sky,
That implements the reason and the rhyme,
Has once again the summer’s face revealed,
Whose warming breath the winter’s ice-grip thaws.
As cold retracts from mind, from bed, from field,
As summer comes, I stop and breathe, I pause.
No more in chilléd silence I’m contained,
But free to move, and laugh and love and think.
No more with desperation am I pained,
But long at last, am rescued from the sink.
So summer’s advent brings to me in chief
The love that’s found beneath a new-turned leaf.

As to the tree does upward cling the vine,
So I am to your steadfast beauty drawn.
And as our lives by force of will entwine,
Your beauty nurtures me as doe to fawn.
Such rounded beauty’s quite uncommon had
By those as young as I. But nonetheless
When life’s persistent questions make me sad,
I think of you and know that life does bless
Me with the privilege of such a friend,
Who knows me yet so well, yet still delights
In knowing more, with seemingly no end –
For though apart, you guide my dreaming nights.
Thus, knowing me, and making no demands,
Our love and happiness is in our hands

My love for you is boundless as those things
Which know no bounds. As such a thing is love.
Encircling all, to all within it brings
The trust and beauty they’ve been dreaming of.
But is my love created just for you,
Or is it just unleashed, at will, at length?
And if the latter, does it matter who
Releases it, as long as they’ve the strength?
No, you, and you alone, within me move
Some ancient stone, which overturned reveals
Such glinting gold as to the world will prove
That this man fin’lly knows the way he feels.
A match in Heaven made? No! We will show:
On Earth, by us, it’s made, preservéd so.

I cannot yet predict what lies in store
For me and mine. I know not how we’ll change.
My knowledge of what has been done before
Is clouded in and of itself. ‘Tis strange
That humans live their life in constant doubt
Of what’s to come, perhaps because they know
That sometime in their life they’ll be without
That which they want, or need, or love. And so
They disengage. But they their sadness make
The worse, for happiness is found despite
The fear of loss. From loss’ depths we take
The utmost heights of pleasure and of delight.
Though life bears pain in oft-excessive dose,
From pain, of love, we often learn the most.

Can happiness be taken from the jaw
Of self-sustaining woe within the mind?
I say it can, for though I stand in awe
Of lasting sadness’ power, love I find
Returning to what some would tempted be
To deem expired, washed away by time.
To them I say, “Your mind will set you free
If to the here and now you make the climb.”
Who doubts, let them be shown the grace of love.
Who cries, let them no longer be alone.
Who lives, let them be showered from above,
And crownéd be on love’s eternal throne.
Awakening, ’tis this in love I see –
My reconciling with reality.

My muse, my muse! Why dost thou treat me so?
Do you not know what power still you hold?
Your beauty yet enthralls me, this you know,
Or do you? Has my love yet grown so old?
Your breast, once warm, has it been frozen hard?
My praises insufficient to it thaw?
Or am I now intentionally barred
From what’s within, though I its beauty saw
At length unfolded, shown to me at will?
Deception? No, this cannot have been so.
For I your kindess feel within me still,
Though all around was misery and woe.
New strength find I from this your granted grace.
Though thoughts and fears may line my still-young face.