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A silver mist, dropped to the street,
covering tree branches, smothering the heat.
Fog creeping in, "on little cat feet".
When the Sun rises, it will retreat.

Short is our life,
just a flickering flame,
a gust of wind;
End of the game.

Love for another,
can be fickle,
can be true.
Depends on devotion,
if you're true
to the love,
you have discovered,
it's not about you.

You are my wish,
a great desire,
to see you again,
as my life tires.
Long may you
and your life
be in bloom
when you grace
a desired room.

"In 1634, Rembrandt painted his wife, Saskia, as Flora — the Roman goddess of flowers and spring. One large bloom droops over her left ear from the wreath crowning her head, dwarfing the other blossoms in scale and splendor — a single tulip, its silken petals aflame with stripes of red and white.These tulips no longer exist Today, their closest kin are known as Rembrandts". Read more

Hold me close.
Hold me tight.
Say you love me.
Kiss me good night.

To the far side of never,
will make up this day.
Use the Sun as your lever
to pry up the haze,
as another tomorrow
is now on it's way.

The cave was dark,
the light was dim,
dampness in the air.
A cave of lost souls,
filled with their despair.
Souls residing in the cave;
Lost because no one cared.

Will you wait for tomorrow,
when tomorrow may never come?
Laying there in a shelter,
after today's time is done.