Little i know about love
As blind the dark
Is blinding the light.

When her hair touch my shoulders, i dont mind.

Im fine. I swear. In these
darker lonely nights, my roots had found acceptance.

When she rest her head in my arms, i dont care

There’s a breezy wind
Down bridal path
Morning birds
Tweeting
Having a laugh.
Mr fox ambled by
With distain let
Out a sigh
On her branch
Mother hawk sat
Eyes her prey
A nice brown rat.
Rabbits and hares
Unregimented in
The field skittering
Around Without a care.
Roe deers appear
So aloof
Walk this bridal path
It happens that’s
the truth.

I went looking
for my mother's grave;
it took me two weeks to find it,
and when I did, I was standing
on it; I actually looked around
to see if anyone else saw
what I had just done

Manipulation, there's no prevention,
you know I keep coming back.
Keep pretending, you are helpless,
while you play with my heart.
My obsession is my profession,
I can't forget you, but I can lie.
It's all illusion, my confusion,
you are never gonna stop coming back.

We are but sand upon the waves,
sliding slowly until the night arrives.
But every step we take together
leaves footprints that can live for centuries.

Children understand loveliness.
They recognise the aroma,
the touch of love,
the echo of hearts
that rise to adore.

Children understand loveliness.
They recognise the savour,
the weight of feast,
the press of voices
that sing with laughter.

Children understand loveliness.
They recognise Christmas
within the heat,
the fire and glory
of Christ's forgiveness.

Children understand Christmas.
Look to them.

When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.

When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.

When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.

When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.