November 26, 2012


My dear Emily, how your thoughts

Sweep my soul, rush full of passion

And dust, longing for consummation of

Thoughtless lust bound by ropes

Found mysterious. O how we struggle

To seek the symphony, ever longing,

Hoping our lenses unique and strong

To deliver the truths others find wrong.


O Emily, how your presence knows no

Bounds, and fills me, brimming and

Spilling as you sleep- dreaming our

Moment’s eyes to meet doth my soul

Do weep with images of your iris’s

Secret ministry.


O most bodiful muse, how you must be

Fueled, breathing the storm of this moment,

As the leaf branches beckon, swaying

Stormed outside my window.


Mother Nature flushes winds as feelings

To force my own, but this fearful hurricane

Is puddle by your pure and unmatched

Monsoon of genius stride that you live

Abide, sweeping much deeper foundations

Than the roots of my forest outside.




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