

My FireFirst I ask myself what is the fire, Perhaps a symbol of heartless desire. So what can this heart feel of such lust, For to write a poem is my charge, I must.My Fire
That fire is dirty, orange and black, A pure fuel at its heart is what it does lack. So lust is no use I need something great, Now I think of the fire of hate.
That fire is large, roaring and red, All who approach are discarded as dead. So hate is a destroyer, not to be rhymed of, The fire I need is the fire of love.
This fire glows white, pure and warm, Feeling like the centre of the happ


Mean To YouWhat is it that I mean to you. To read your mind would help perhaps, or not. For we grow ever closer, yet, ever careful, always guarding, The heart is a precious object, Easily Broken, Carefully Given. To do your will is my desire The genie mantra sounds. But in reality all one could wish, When considering the life of their love, Is one of serenity, happiness and bliss.Mean To You


My GodI cry out to the God in the Heavens, not yet my God, but I pray. I call out to God, and I hear nothing. I cry out to God, and hear a solitary heart beat. Yet no anger will I feel. For in my darkest hour I shunned the Lord. Turned my back to His whipped, beaten body. And now in His mercy I take a breath, and praise His Holy Name. For I will always know God is my saviour, and patience is a virtue, on Gods perfect plan.My God
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