My life was spent staring at the night waves
Clasping the soul of the shifting sands
With an enduring tide that proudly raves
Of a lunar grip and its unseen hands

My life was spent studying a vermilion star
Slowly setting on the bare horizon
Like an abiding, gentle kiss from afar;
The humble scent of a noble mission!

My life was spent trusting the voiceless tears
Of weighted clouds, embracing the swaying greens
As they reach for the roots and buried fears
With ethereal allusions of what sincerity means

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Remember

It's raining. I recognize this rain. I like this rain.

The little that I am

Brown. Green. Pink. Blue.

and White.

It's so loud and silent at the same time.

Have a listen.