Happy Valentine’s day to everyone from afar.
All is well, and so, I am feeling quite fine.
Speak to me gently and sip your wine.
Maybe one day she and I will share an armoire.
Sometimes, we fight until commotion
Alone remains. But without her, I’m bereft.
Let’s tend to the gardens until only butterflies are left.
Freed from the stress by impressive motions.
Maybe this year will last unlike past flings.
My respect for her body and mind remains immutable.
I have stumbled into something beautiful.
Life is burdensome at twenty four with no college ring.
Yet, I refrain not from expressing my heart’s desires,
For in love there is a certain spiritual wealth.
That grows in interest with the nurturing of the self.
All around me are the flickering crimson fires.
Here’s to the one has been most wholehearted and true!
Here’s to the one that offers their whole heart to you!
Sweet success sometimes becomes a rueful path.
When the world feels cold and dark, persevere.
Well-crafted morals compound into cheers.
Trust the compass. And, envelope no wrath.
Delicate deeds do much for a soul’s worth.
Inspire the people like the youth observe
What we choose, for our life ought to preserve.
This beautiful Earth in all of its mirth.
Resound with class before the monolith.
Even when you’re quite bruised, stay enthused.
There’s no abyss, only flux. Remain kind bliss. Fuse
the unconscious with your light-heart. You’re pith.
With time comes many opportunities
To nurture the lovely communities.
Sent to you as love sonnets from afar,
Lyricisms transcend despair. No dread.
So many memories flowing—all supreme.
I am experiencing brighter colors.
I feel nothing but dreams and improvement.
Red-purple, blue-green, and black-white-yellow,
I finally feel the right amount of mellow.
Despite desperate efforts for acceptance,
Few grow to know the doubt of happenstance.
There has to be something more to life.
Apocryphal hate-feels in the tirades.
I became so sad I could not even sing.
Life’s tough at twenty-three and no ring.
Bliss holds no prisoners, nor does it fade.
I love myself for all that I’ve ever been.
I feel right with myself and mental health.
We all ascend our own mountain.
When I think of how I miss all of you…
All I want lately is you to come around
To lay under the hellfire heavens of greying skies
Of the highs that waltz into our everyday.
While we burn bright-hot, let’s melt
Every one’s icy misgivings until the mountains
Are submerged, the fires extinguished,
Surely, all that will be left is one enormous
sea of love.
Let’s build bridges over teary-valleys.
To reckon a supreme state of Love…
To forget the sun and die by the moon….
The insides of my soul no longer bruised.
Freezing, wintry December evenings…
Cliche Oversoul dissolution.
Comfort the Goddesses and hug frowners.
Blithe spirits venture into the cold.
A chilling, breeze whispering Fuchsia!
Intrepid explorers exist perfectly
Kissing faces with a sweet, splendid smile.
Rise from infinities and dank skies…
Speak of tales so wondrous the coups just coo.
Oh, how they turn to dust in our hands
Like a sun from the heart of a wild lioness.
Remembering that not everything’s your fault.
Violet and blue, Green and you
Rivulets in the ocean of love
Flowing from the eyes of a beautiful
Woman on a winter’s day…
A warm body with cold hands
Big coats and tight pants
Ra’s smile overhead is so gargantuan
That I can’t bear to look at it directly.
But I see its finite grandeur
Reflected off a crescent moon
In the still black and purple sky,
While the lonely individuals are howling
Mad disrupting the tranquil night.
I learn I’m not a flower chasing light.
To live by the sun and die by the moon…
Pontificate endlessly about love.
For absolute beauty glistens in our cries.
Grace is to be received from up above.
Opiate thrills never beat out trills and glee.
Everyone knows of the trap of the billow.
Free your love by the variegated willow.
Hearts hanker for mistake. Wishes are free.
Husbands entombed in a graveyard unjust.
In Culture We Trust? Romance is just lust.
More breezy than wind’s kisses of rhyme,
Cosmic paintings line the fabric of time.
We poured our hearts out in suburban streets.
Our fits and tantrums: sound, soft, and eclectic.