The little bits you take from me—

You asked for a piece of my mind, then my head gears ran nonstop.

You pleaded me to lend you a hand, and I reached out all the way.

You beseeched for my heart, now I can’t make the beating stop.

Spare my soul, s’il vous plaît!…I might give in right away.


Ink stained

My love for you is ink stained—

green, when i planted thoughts of you

purple, when you were my king

blue, when i thought you were my sky

and black, when i was over you

My love for you is ink stained,

validated by the waiting paper.




What is love?

What is love?
A child heart asked–

is it not in the eyes that see
a ray of hope in all humanity;
or of gentle hearts that beat
for every weary soul that face defeat

What is love?
A curious one wonders–

is it not the touch of kindness
and any act that brings home gladness;
a simple curve of a smile even,
that mends some hearts broken

What is love?
The thinkers ponder–

is it not the quest to understand
the mystery that is out of our hand;
rather than reducing life to definition
expanding, enlightening our vision

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