A long time ago, my passions would stir and I’d write little poems based on them. They are little expressions of my experiences.

The last time I wrote a poem was around 2011 and it was a funeral dirge. It was unlike the others but very long.

This one is more like what I used to write—only without the darkness.

Perfect Love

Perfect love is without the condition of lust
Soft and gentle
A whisper in a howling windstorm

Ever expanding
And never bound in jealousy

Instead of inner death
It bears living waters

Oh how can I describe what my inner eyes see
So that you may understand

Perfect Love 
And all it is meant to be.