Sometimes, I think of you the most,
About the Trinity and the Holy Ghost.
Why is that you ask, I see?
I'm unsure, but it might be,
A hidden need, that's inside of me.

The part that prayer plays in life,
When used, reduces pain and strife,
That we see everyday, come what may.
To soothe the worries; Who's to say
If the results will end with scorn
As our life goes on, so forlorn.

I don't wish to give you pause
Or recruit you now, to my cause.
I do ask of you, on this day,
That when I speak, don't look away.
For the words that I say too
Are words of love, just for you.

There is a moaning, in the trees,
Accented by the Summer breeze.
Filled with heat from Sun above,
Is this the sound trees make in love?
The rubbing sound of a thousand leaves
Are sounds of love, among the trees.

A crashing wave
on glistening rock,
is a noise to love,
not hate the sound,
as Nature's music,
comes in many ways,
for us to enjoy
all the waves.

John Keats (1795 - 1821) English Romantic poet and one of the main figures of the second generation of Romantic poets. He published only fifty-four poems during his short life.

Are words alive?
They seem to be.
I write them down
For you to see.
Is there a meaning
For you and me?
Or just the words
That are there for thee.

Footloose and so fancy free,
Is what life was supposed to be.
What happened to this life we know
When your mind will no longer grow?

There are hazards of this life's longevity,
That shortens the time, left to be.
A factor in the mortal life of ours.
Make your amends to friends and see
That the length of life, depends upon thee.

There is a beast in everyone,
There is a beast in me.
Most people control their own
And do not set it Free.

I run, I seek, but cannot find
the key to this heart of mine.