Abundiantus

Winter Rose, Your beauty amazes me, Unyielding to winters frost, Snowflakes but diamond decoratives, You oppose and bloom, If ever you were to speak, Could you I keep?

Dance for me, Dance, Candlelight, The way you move, When I exalt in awe, So beautiful, That I am apart of you, So extraordinary, That I breathe into you new life.

These writings will never amount, To anything but my soul, I pour these words, I fill these blank pages with emotion, From the heart, I say, "I am connected", I am connected to you, And you to me, When you read my poetry, I am with you.

One day, when I was walking, I noticed footprints in the snow, No matter how hard I tried, I could not walk in the prints, It was only when I relaxed, That I could walk both between and in the snowprints, The footprinter, a unknown ghost, Left behind not a memory, but a teaching, That I must be relaxed, To carry on with my owen rhythm of life, So that I may both experience uncharted zones, And learn from those before me.

I hate you, Loath your smile, Your physicalities, Sickened by your way of living, Why do you do what you do? Think I say! Pity? No, not today, What you are, I protest, How you think, I detest, Can I not deliver you from me? No! It cannot be, And yet, the only person I hate, Is me.

He who falls, In the fields of war, Will live on in our hearts, Today, tomorrow, And forever more.

My hand lay upon the glass, Your print still there from the past, Our two hands meet, My left to your right they greet, Times have then passed, Where only my hand lay upon the glass.

Green crystal ball, The one that contains all, Bubbles that you do encase, Minute life forms we do trace, For within the bubbles, A universe it does contain, In them you will see, Paralleled images of you and me.

He whose last breath brings death, Lost is the loved one, When beloved has gone to rest

My imaginary friend, You'll be there till the end, Your my other side, The one that never subsides, You were there even when I was sad, More so now that I'm locked up, raving mad, Where does one go, my friend, When your encircled in a padded pen?