We know so little and of all the things in life, There’s no greater tool among us then love for neighbor, child or wife. It’s perfect in its nature and doesn’t want a thing, symbolizing its forever we choose to give a ring. There is no protection from love contagious and it’s free nothing greater to have pursue you, no better place to be than on the receiving end of kindness and regard for you and me. In peace we find a partner a lover or a friend and the Love we share together knits us tightly until the end. Sycamore in the desert you stand uniquely filled with the affluent power of joy embracing the love of all as family and friend.

Of Love, I have often wondered, is the price something given freely which when paid makes it more the precious? Or are the prison doors made privy shut around a heart and mind forever trapped, encapsulated with freedom unwanton? A moments rest in freedom shunned for a captive heart, treasure beyond remanding. What burden is so light yet massive that none may escape its shadow. We would travel time, grieve eternally and trade our last bastion to taste a moment of its fragrance. This so is the meaning of everlasting life for it is only found knit inseparably to the hopeful adoration of those who would spend it with us rather than elsewhere, even kindled with massive treasures of gold and fury.

Brought to light by spark and cinder, into the raging fires of loves possessive heat. Always wishing to keep one hand in the pool of swirling waters below that I might not burst, formally expiring in the dreams of passion’s wonder. Singing tunes without pain or love use not the notes to their fullest, banishing to dark elixir of chords, rhythm and time to lesser pursuit. The first aspiration must always be the love of ones master, creator, Dad. For in our roots and that approval or validation we find the will to overcome, transpire and push forward with the courage that surrounds a man’s heart with recovery. Into the raucous night of battle’s clanging we rush fervently for the hope of one regard from maker.

Insisting on poverty we still must find the brotherhood, the filial, the romantic call of loves draw above reason and counsel. Those who hate are relegated to lesser gains and ambitions. For there is no place as the hand of love upon thee. Sought not for gain of finance but finishing of purpose. Pleased by all that comes our direction we are never filled to measure without having had the great pleasure of someone seeing and accepting us fully for who we are not who we have left to become. As the drum beats into the night counting out and calling us to the quest of dreams, we are lost in the forest without knowledge of tree, leaf or Earth without first having understood and followed the love that first led us wondering.