Love is an acquired taste.
First, it is sprinkled with sugar.
A sweet, tender love
With no complications

Then, it is taken only with cream.
You begin to realize
That love isn’t always sweet.
It’s more bitter than you thought
The constant fear of loss
Is an acquired taste

Eventually, it is taken plain.
You know now
That love is an acquired taste.
It is something you have learned
As you've grown and matured.
It is something that can be terrifying.
It is something that can be painful.

Love is an acquired taste,
But it is still a beautiful thing.
The fear feels right.
It means you care.

The pain feels necessary,
Because only through conflict
Can you find peace.

In the end,
Love is love.
Everyone acquires the taste.

I wonder.
I wonder strange things.
I wonder things
That most people
Don’t bother wondering.

I wonder what.
What the lady on the corner,
Who I pass on the street,
Is thinking.
Is she dreaming?
Is she pondering?
Is she wondering, too?

I wonder how.
How did that child,
Who I see at the shop,
Get scrapes on her knee?
Did she fall?
Off a bike?
Out of a tree?

I wonder when.
When did the jet-lagged family,
Who I notice in the airport,
Get here?
Was it a long flight?

I wonder why.
Why do I wonder these things?
I know why.
Because I am wonderer.
Why?
I’ll let you wonder.

A gift from the sun
Golden rays of heat and warmth
Shine down upon us

The voice of an angel,
that is sunset.
Clouds dancing with the sky,
that is sunset.
Nothing touchable by man,
that is sunset
sweet, completely pure,
that is sunset

A lover of music,
is my sunset.
A life full of friends,
is my sunset.
Never judging,
always loving.
That is my sunset.

What is yours?

The impossible is possible again
it gives us all the courage to stand
The sweet notes of music
It tells us things words can never say
Inspires us to try by day and day
something we create
but so beautiful
Life with no music
Is not life at all
Living is our choices,
our hopes, our dreams, our ambitions
music helps us find those dreams
I wonder if when I sing,
the whole world is happy
For maybe just one second,
they all feel a flicker of hope

Deep in the garden,
Among the violets,
Butterflies stand on a stem.
Their wings are made of lace,
Soft feathers
Surround their face,
It’s as if the garden
Was made just for them.

They flit lazily from flower to flower,
Hungrily drinking their fill,
And when they are done,
They fall asleep
With the sun,
To the music
Of the mourning dove’s trill.