Does it ever occur to you
That your face appears in
My thoughts and dreams
And everything in between?

Or should I assume
That like my silly humor,
You just think of me like a joke
And nothing more?

Do you believe in us,
Or is the thought so absurd
That it would only pop up
In your head as sarcastic nonsense?

Could it really be only me
That feels these feelings,
Or are you hiding them
Like an elementary school boy does?

Am I only wasting my time
Wistfully dreaming about you-
Or are you
Secretly dreaming of me too?

By the fond name that was his own and mine,
The last upon his lips that strove with doom,
He called me and I saw the light assume
A sudden glory and around him shine;
And nearer now I saw the laureled line
Of the august of Song before me loom,
And knew the voices, erstwhile through the gloom,
That whispered and forbade me to repine.
And with farewell, a shaft of splendor sank
Out of the stars and faded as a flame,
And down the night, on clouds of glory, came
The battle seraphs halting rank on rank;
And lifted heavenward to heroic peace,
He passed and left me hope beyond surcease.

Virtue runs before the muse
And defies her skill,
She is rapt, and doth refuse
To wait a painter's will.

Star-adoring, occupied,
Virtue cannot bend her,
Just to please a poet's pride,
To parade her splendor.

The bard must be with good intent
No more his, but hers,
Throw away his pen and paint,
Kneel with worshippers.

Then, perchance, a sunny ray
From the heaven of fire,
His lost tools may over-pay,
And better his desire.

my honesty will make you cry
my honesty will make you think
my honesty will make you realize
why silently, on this night i drink
to hope and dreams
i toast to thee
for as a goddess
you were to me
i'll stop my generosity
i'll become that *** you adore
i'll make you realize why, oh why
i was not one to ignore
yet sadly on that lonely night
not for me but you
i'll be there at your beacon call
and travel the night through
at your door step i will pause
i'll think my fears and sorrows
i'll recall your favorite line from me
my hearts yours to have or borrow

An instance of
certainty in wrath, or hate
for that matter, is to live
a lifetime perpetually
in hindsight's
headlights.

You feel this upon
lonely reminiscent sessions;
You shiver, cringe,
then force-flood your mind
with nonsense to forget.
That is regret.