An angel appeared one night

An angel appeared one night before my searching eyes,
As my visage cried for understanding.
She was waxen, laden with subtle raindrops,
Her aura became a purely subtle refrain,
In my thoughts and with the rain.

I could not resist a complex notion,
that meaning corresponds to the apparition,
and with that cogent recognition,
I compelled myself to gather momentum,
for a leap toward another direction.

She taught me to sing,
and sang I might,
for that night shone stars so bright,
that I could climb eternal heights.

Yours and mine, woven

Mine is the music and slumber that beget my dreams of friendship,
discovering brooks of thought woven amongst
our roads and bridges built between islands of inspiration.
Breath deep the aroma of ten thousand pink blossoms,
we are not exempt from the smile of a child in mirth.
My journey is a search for one friend who may redeem
these dreams of lyric verses like songs within my heart.

Yours is the creative spark,
the power of inspiration.
Your brainchild is a brainstorm,
deeply thought, yet an exaltation.
Quite fancy the finely flowing photo,
mixed as an impulse to spur the imagination.
A notion of a muse to awaken our arousal,
an idea I shan't be able to resist.
Enthusiasm for your eloquent composition,
with little encouragement becomes my zest and zeal.
Frequent fervent visits approach an animus,
so kindly shared your vision of elevation,
bestowed upon me.

Thank you

Ever trodden still

The path less traveled, is ever trodden still,
a skittish deer or bashful groundhog
do wander woods and mushroom laden hill,
but trolls do lay in wait,
in such a groggy state,
be wary of her future course, mere words cannot instill.

Puerile Textures

A broad swipe of the artist's brush,
along a puerile canvas no longer clean,
goading textures out of vapor,
carving beauty sight unseen