I am the flower, the seed, and the soil.

I am the flower,
beloved and bright,
I root to the earth,
and stand in the light.

I am the seed,
my potential’s unknown,
but with tender hands,
my glory is grown.

I am the soil,
holding steadfast and sure,
and I nurture new lives
with those who came before.

I am the flower, beautiful and brave;
I am the seed, pure possibility;
I am the soil, built o’er the grave;
All these, and more, live within me.

They say you have a heart of stone –
cold and unfeeling, you cannot be moved.
But I know better.
Yes, I know better.

You have a heart of crystal –
shimmering and shining the day away.
You catch the light sent your way,
reflecting and refracting it.

The stillness that they see
is their own inflexibility.
They call you cold only because
they cannot bear embracing you.

There is a garden in your heart
that catches fire every dawn,
enraptures rime every moonrise,
and welcomes wonder every starlit night.

Every crack and every flaw
is but one more purchase for the light,
and all the scars the world gave you
add a beauty called “character”.

They say you have a heart of stone –
cold and unfeeling, you cannot be moved,
but you carry a cultivated prominence,
and your glory grows with each new day.

The world spins and turns,
seasons come and go,
and while winter is on the rise,
spring will come again.

The nascent glacial weather
will frost the fall foliage,
but snowmelt waters sleeping seeds
and nurtures new growth.

While the winds sharpen icy edges
and the days dim and darken,
the nights burn brighter
with kind-hearted company.

And as the snows pile higher,
we stay snug as bugs on a fireside rug,
laughing loudly with such mirth
that we shake clean the rafters and the roof.

And when spring finally returns,
it’s shocked and surprised to learn
that we’d carried its spirit all winter long
to greet the buds with joyous song.

I want to fall in love
with the kind of passion
that sweeps me off my feet
and leaves me breathless.

I want a love so sweet
that I dream the days away
by my beloved’s side
on cotton candy cloud nines.

I want a love so salty
that she makes sailors blush,
but who carries a depth within
that puts the oceans to shame.

I want a love so sultry
the we pass the long winter nights
like short summer days,
warm in each other’s arms.

I want the kind of love
that breaks my heart
when time, fate, or fortune
eventually tears us apart.

We are alike, yet
we are not the same.

It is more than a matter of gender or race:
whether the difference is sex or skin,
what differs without does not within.
It is only the failure of our eyes
that see a flaw where none lies.

It is more than a matter of religion or Faith:
the God(s) you believe in, the ones you won’t,
and those of us who simply don’t –
no matter what Faith you hear call,
a faith holds fast for us all.

It is more than a matter of country or culture:
we’re all children of the same planet,
and all the land we claim on it
rests beneath the same blue sky
that sees no borders between you and I.

Perhaps it is a matter of perspective:
that strength is not in the facts we face,
but rather, we can measure our disgrace
in how openly we can face the facts
and restrain ourselves from attacks.

Perhaps it is our hopes and dreams:
the glimm’ring stars we reach for
and the things that we adore
are the measure of our hearts,
and what sets us most apart.

Perhaps the truth is closer than we think…
the difference is in our hands –
whether to heal or reprimand –
do we try to tear others down,
or offer them the glory of the crown.

Sing for me a song of storms,

Sing to me of gallons of rain,
carried in the arms of a hurricane,
swallowing all our hopes and dreams
just like their clouds consume sunbeams.

Sing to me of a frozen gale,
of snow, of ice, and deadly hail –
frigid blades within the breeze
that cut you deep how’er they please.

Sing to me of roaring thunder,
of lightning that splits the night asunder,
scorches the earth with Heaven’s ire,
and smites the sinful with Their fire.

Sing to me of the tempest,
of wind that rages relentless,
that huffs and puffs with a laugh
and blows away the last of the chaff.

Sing to me of human hearts,
of the trembling flesh that shakes and starts
at the approach of the ones they hold dear
and the advance of those they fear.

For all the storms that nature brings,
the winds and rains that howl and sing –
the glories of Gaia at her best
are outdone by the storm within our breast.