Oh my darling, I love you so.
You are my everything and cure my woe.
I feel strong when you stand beside me.
And your wisdom helps me clearly see.
My love for you blooms like a flower.
It grips me with ever growing power.
I cannot escape it. I am your slave.
Though others may think I rant and rave,
For the first time ever my path is clear.
My purpose is to hold and protect you my dear.
To the world you will be my wife.
But to me, you are my life.
Some time ago,
It began to snow.
It was no longer rain.
And so beauty comes from pain.
If this metaphor needs further explanation,
Allow me to clear it beyond contestation,
Please give me a moment to explain,
What it was I meant by rain.
Rain is often seen as dismal.
Most people think it’s abysmal.
But it is necessary to bring forth beauty.
So it has a very important duty.
It gives us the flowers in spring,
And the crystalline snow after birds take wing.
So too there is an importance of pain.
Without it we can never hope to gain.
It puts a new prospective on life.
Which in turn lessens our strife.
And without the discomfort of strain,
Our appreciation would wain,
For the beautiful moments we now cherish.
They would be nothing more than a wish,
If we had no pain to give prospective.
It’s sorrow which makes pleasure effective.
So like the rain,
We shall always need pain.
Though its appeal isn’t always present,
It leads to the things we find pleasant.
I’m not cool.
I’m also not a fool.
I know my faults and limitations.
I don’t kid myself with petty imitations,
By acting like I’m more than I’m not.
Oh I’ve had the thought,
That it would be nice to be the cool guy.
The one who acts so fly.
But I know that’s not what I was meant to be.
I’m simply meant to be just me.
Nothing more and nothing less.
That’s enough for me I guess.
I’m neither strongest nor fast,
And my teachers were generally aghast.
As a specimen I’m small,
For I’m not so very tall.
I never won a trophy of gold.
And so truth be told,
I think my only remarkable feature,
Is my understanding of what kind of creature,
That I am.
Neither a lion, nor a lamb.
I do the best I can.
I’m just a man.
The Sun shines down and birds sing.
A gentle breeze blows.
I’m tired of waiting on her to have fun.
Around hope of her arrival my life has been run.
I’ve been hoping for her to arrive for years.
And I’ve waited with loneliness and tears.
Now I’ve come to a new decision,
My old plan has gone through revision.
I’m no longer saving date ideas for her.
Now I’m taking myself out as it were.
No girl has given me the chance to take her out,
But I’m not going to sit around and pout.
I’m going to show myself a good time.
I will not spare a dime.
Girls, you missed your chance.
I’m taking up a new stance.
Now I’m going to spend my money on me.
And go to each destination and do every activity,
That I had planned out so carefully,
And hoped so prayerfully,
Would give a girl a good time.
Now I’ve reached the end of this rhyme.
Tired eyes that ache.
Muscles that begin to shake.
These are the signs that I should rest.
Yet it’s also when I write best.
I think it is just before slumber,
That the thoughts of the day cease to encumber,
The mind and so make it free,
Which gives rise to a writing spree.
There’s no point in feeling sorry,
For past events that can’t be changed.
Despite them the sky is still starry,
And the heavens are still arranged.