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A great poet once said that traveling the lone

Path was the true wonder, the only one worth it,

That companions did not matter even one bit,

For whoever had once wandered the trail unknown

Would become wise enough, enough to realize

That no matter the goal, the journey was the prize.

I, on the other hand, cannot agree with this;

It’s true the adventure far outworths the reward

And lone meandering can be akin to bliss

But what of the friendships that are born afterward?

What of those encounters that define you for life?

One may consider them as useless or as rife

However they make us who we are and become

Once we, all these trials, finally overcome.

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The sun is shining and the sky is blue,

I don’t know why it makes me think of you,

The storm has slowly passed, the rain has ceased,

My heart’s finally free, it’s been released,

A soft wind is blowing, warm light shining,

I am standing here, left wondering,

The smell of grass in the air, slightly wet,

Back to the day when you and me first met,

This feels like a revival, world reborn,

Ne’er had expected to be so lovelorn,

Excitement is rushing into my veins

Washing away every one of my pains,

I shall run, jump and sing and shout and dance

For my love is all yours forever hence.

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*

Three from two make eight or five,

Big or small it always lifts,

In life or in death, only for the hive.

Blue and red overshadow the deep purple sea,

Running along or flying far, far away,

Never keeps calm or harm out of way.

*

Everything’s in the title. Yup.

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Sprinkled sand precedes the veil,

Night falling upon the world,

Rekindled hands recedes the hail,

Light is shining on me, pearled.

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Are you whom I am looking for? The one ?

Oh tell me, however can I be sure?

I cannot wait until this love is gone

To finally find out if it is pure…

In the end, is that what I truly sought?

Whatever I did, whatever I thought,

Could it, no matter what, ever be fought ?

Because, my dear, you don’t taste like you should,

‘Cause you don’t fit in my arms like she would,

I love you –swear I do!– but are you good?

I cannot wait until this love is dawned

To finally find us this needed cure.

Am I the one with whom you want to bond?

Do tell me, however can you be sure?

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Who, for a moment, sat and thought to be poet?

Who really looked at that which they truly covet?

Who voiced, just once, out loud: ‘I want to tell stories

So beautifully made they brush away worries

Of readers crestfallen and reignite their flame’?

Who actually said it and acted on their claim?

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