poems

Every time I love you, it's too good to be true.
Still, it's more true that you believe,
Nor will it be known until it fades again.
Time is a sea that opens in which it will join
However, it irritates more than you leave behind.

For now, my love sings in the stars,
Or whistles against the rocks, like the sea,
Unravel your life when you pause to cry,
Returning to sunlight, with rain.