Shall I reveal how oft my thoughts of yours?
As plenty as the stars do maze the sky
And each their shooting spec with their explores
And sparkle they; as lit my inner eye.
O' I too think of you; when skies are blue
They flutter with the birds of snowy white
Then as the feathers fall, as does for you;
Each plume affix with love of mine recite.
I wonder you; no more than waves can bring
No less than all the shells who whisper love,
But even more than petals of the Spring.
Give thoughts to voice, and you have heard your dove.

To count the granules of a sandy beach
Would number thoughts, much more than I could teach.

Removing jealous nerves from out my brain
You'll view the surge your seeking eye had made
And if so fluttered harmless, why disdain?
Deny these blackened patches; flirt arrayed
And hold no nose, alluring perfume's age
To bitter scents of envy, wreaking mine,
That seeped a clouded haze, our lover's stage.
To live such mist; I doused my lungs with wine
As then the words are slurred to least offend
For stupors dwell where love's received in mind
Not there I quarrel, there true love's on mend
But here, the tease has love completely blind.

If known the potent nerve behind your strays
Then grasped the luring swill; of drunken days.

Describe depression? Sleepless, nothing-ness.
Continuous night whilst yearning for day
To only find that day will offer less;
A state of halfway within a no-way.
To know that love for others dwell within
Yet hearted wings bare not that love to reach
For feathers burn beneath neurotic pain;
Alike a humid hell than summer beach.
Where scorched it dwells; to form a human stain.
A stain whose mainly thoughts are means to end;
For better be, a world that has no me
As love defines, but self has none to send
Not even for one's own, as love's not free.

Depression takes all worth and leaves one none
Incessant demons whisper; till they won.

If I had breath to give but one last word
Could love weight all my brimful heart's outpour?
Or need it sound; that ears have not yet heard
For love's familiar so; one needs not more.
Adore, would have I gasp, a vowel's gift
Tho' if my heart converts, that metric fails
For two has none to send, that deep; uplift.
Beloved, flows swiftly as tho' it sails;
As onto both the sides of love it wings,
Yet tense is past, and I'll be fervor still
So vast the feel, that in the death; love sings!
Then love let love be last the word of will.

Know then; love's word is short with many use
Tho' is the sound of hearts, and last diffuse.

O' take me off the deathly scribe! For now;
My heart does bid his bones to draw me not.
For mine new love could not neath stone, allow.
Yet pure to still relive past breath, than rot.
No grimmer fate than crawling dirt to sire
As meant for fair and sweet, not feast to dust.
Tho' laws of ashes still bids me to mire
Extend this time, then I will sleep that crust.
To reap one's source, then must have inner sight!
Then known this pith of mine; which rules my core,
Recall then death to when you lived such light
Then sure as all who lay; you'll wave me more!

O' rid me not to soil when love's too soon
May scythe withhold for love, and then let hewn.

How long until the moonlight orbs her eyes?
Since newly rose, she's grown to meet her prune
And I; a marbled sculpt who pondered wise
Had let all time within her grasp, to boon.
This cherry blossom has me stilled beside,
To wait; recalls a dream on petal'd fields
That I held one in winds with love as guide.
Yet she has bound a force from which she shields;
A wit that beauties fair had least resist.
Ah! Newer glance reveals the specs of stars;
A lover's twinkle gave a favored twist
That as the night foretells; a gain for Mars!

Her virtue met me neath the freckled night
I catch that star, which has her moons alight.

Has life no sweeter sounds than breathes your chords?
Sensations have me wild to ancient voice;
To powered wailings, of Armada's swords.
Tho' known my ears, would you'd been sailor's choice
And if so moved as I, then they'd have won.
The muse of classic notes, had they'd been sung
To tunes of angel mine when morn' meets sun
Would not had tragic end, but love that strung
With solo harps and scores of violins.
Ah! None could meet the air as your recite;
Aloud this ode, as from such tongue begins.
tho' blind to beauty owned, O' read despite!

And if so swayed as whom the pen began
then known no other song; I love more than.