I sit in wonder of the splendid trees,

I listen to the whispering breeze.

I realize that poetry cannot explain,

The true feelings I have for the soft drizzling rain.

I look through the fog with awe inspired tenderness,

and think of the wonderful, terrible, rareness.

Art can only etch a pale clone,

of the singularly unique world shown.

Our blue marble is a gem to behold,

Our exceptional world is more precious then gold,

It's a world of knowledge; an amazing tome.

I am awed to be able, to call this place home.

Shall I compare thee to an autumn rain?

Thou wou'dst admonish me if you knew why.

Though I'd love it if the knowledge you'd gain,

I just can't speak, when near a butterfly.

You are a rose among thorns, oh! t'is true!

And I wish I could be but one of those,

Just so I could be very near to you.

I wish I could hold you; To kiss, I s'pose.

Alas, seasons have changed, so too have we.

To long did I wait, I did miss my chance.

Only now do I know you did love me,

but I was blind to your looks and your glance.

   Now we have traveled our separate ways,

   I'll always cherish, that very first day.

I hear some sound,

It is the daisy,

such soft whisper,

It drives me crazy.

I heard a rose,

The strings so high,

It gave me chills...

 no wonder why.

What clear trumpet!

It is the lily,

It is beautiful,

I mean it, really!

Listen here my friend,

This most certainly isn't the end!

Life goes on for quite a while,

You simply need a friendly smile.

So sit yourself down,

And wipe away that frown.

Grab yourself a cup of tea,

And read this poem, to you, from me!

As you sip that fragrant brew,

Remember lots of people love you.

So just sit there peacefully, and read,

I hope this poem fulfills your need. :)

I wrote several letters to you.

They started as a sort of whim.

They became half a baker's dozen.

A collection of writings

from a half baked idea.

I am counting that one letter as half

because it was three sentences long.

I never had the courage to give them to you.

Like the fool I wish I was, I burned the letters.

After ashes were all that remained,

I wished I had burned them with more ceremony.

To late it was.

The unsent, were just that.

I can only wish that I give my letter's, in a dream, to you.

I wished I hadn't burned them.

I wish I had the courage,

To place them in your hands.

The only place,

The letters truly belong.

H: I pick at the bandaid,

A whole three days old.

I peel at it's edge,

And yank it from my skin.

The skin underneath all old and crinkly,

begins breathing and slowly sinking.

C: I am fascinated by this process.

A part of me has been burned,

But now it is healing in a fabulous way.

So much skin was lost, and yet,

Now it has come back.

But, oh does it hurt!

H: Pain is only temporary though.

Growing pains are the best kind of pains,

I am alive.

This feels like an awakening!

C: An awakening in my mind.

I come to the realization,

Life is fragile,

But it takes care of itself.

Healing can come from within,

But only with the help from the outside.

H: I embrace myself and squeeze tightly,

Shutting my eyes and shooting upwards

I try with all of my might,

To tickle the clouds just as the trees do.

I reach and reach but no success.

C: Alas, I had wished to join the stars,

To look down upon the earth,

With tender smile.

But dreams are dashed.

A single tear escapes my eyes.

H: a decision must be made, it seems.

I look down at my feet,

They are still planted on the ground.

I take a step forward, then another and another,

Until, I am running!

Springing forward with such exhilaration.

C: I leave behind winter’s grip,

I charge into a new world.

Racing through fields of corn,

Seeing what can be seen.

I realize I don’t need to fly,

I can run, where I want to go!

I have found a new challenge.

Both in writing and in love.

Prose has updated there style,

And I think I have found

an angel from Above.

Lets start with Prose first.

There challenges do cost,

a small fee to enter.

I think this is silly,

many people will be lost.

They charge you to write,

I am saddened by this.

Why spend money,

when entering

a writing bliss.

As to my imagined love,

I saw a wonderful girl,

She passed me by,

we never talked.

I shall retreat from that pearl.

I'd like to have a short chat,

I wish my name was O'Pat,

I wear all green,

The best you've seen!

Now what do you think about that?

He seeks a theme,

to him, it is a game.

How can the man find,

what has been hidden?

He has some papers, a ream,

in here he stores his fame.

These loose leaves shall bind,

all his thoughts, even those forbidden.

I sit at my desk with tea mug in hand,

Imagining myself writing sonnets.

A sip of tea gives ideas so grand!

Oh, I could write about blue bell bonnets,

But silly it is, to write of such things,

When very little do I know of cloths.

My knowledge extends to creatures with wings,

Birds, animals, things I smell with my nose.

Flowers aplenty in gardens of sound,

There I go, shamelessly self promoting.

But there are lots of poems, just look around!

I think my next one should be on boating.

   But come to the end of this poem have we,

   Thanks for reading my random thoughts. Look! Tree!