With dark raven paper and twinkling white ink, I wrote my heart in the night’s sky.

Madness is loving the unsolvable puzzle of your soul and replacing the lost pieces with my own.

I waited for the seasons of love to pass from this cold winter to the summer heat I dreamed of.

You were the poem I never knew how to write because no words could describe the wind you cannot see, but feel.

You hid in my ink and guided my hand. You stained the pages with your silence as God wrote the words, "Be still." Yet, my heart's blindness could only write in loud hues of red, "I love you.

And when they dusted my mind for your fingerprints they found yours.

Sonnet IIf thee must say that I am not who I am,That I am not real or true,Then thou must say you are not as well,For we either walk in fairytales and dance to our dreams,Or we die trying to capture a miracle between the ordinary moments, We rejoice in the gratitude for our needs met, But we pray for the staircases and open doors to our desires,We redefine our gratitude with another day, Another dance of praise to Thee for undoing are mistakes of unneeded wants and needs we want, but not met.