Pondered much over your inspirations
To write on subjects, more.
Searched my heart,
Sought my soul,
Voices echoed in choruses of light,
I know not, write on new or more.
When all I hear is love, so bright.
Rest of it is shadows, mere.
Love is the climate of my soul.
And songs of it flood my lips.
How can poetry be otherwise?
All that brims is the one that spills!
Kindle in me some other storm
That has a fervor greater than love.
I am merely a canvas nude,
What you adorn me is what I pride.
Until then, let me speak of love
Because to know, and yet fake,
Would only amount to sin……