On a humble air of this early morning, bird’s flair in song and dance through honeysuckle vines…I love to hear them sing. I witness this veil of natural accord, embracing the cusp of Spring. Why, even sweet buds arrive upon the fruit trees of plum nectar, and the white flowers begin to show their passion for love’s new taste.

Within the seasons for this atmospheric air, the poet in his own mystical way, abandoning senses for the truth as one searches from within, abandoned by the torture of suffrage, grief, and every kind of love, seeks out this madness for the humanity factor, it is here faith and courage shall see himself among men as the criminals of Golgotha, and yet the one who suffers and struggles the most becomes one of the learned ways arriving at both known and unknown.

I see my Shepherd’s Face – wrapped in each other’s arms we play and gambol as only children can with the fresh scent of a sweet, springtime sweat emulsifying the senses to the degree of a love-making session, standing high upon the mountaintop of love as the wind gathers strength to let me know He is here with me, against all odds.

My nights then were dark, and cold, and even frightening. Though, as one struggles a four – decade span, He who is Eternal may first appear whether in Voice, or Light, or a grip upon the shoulder when no one is looking, pulling me back from the razor’s bloodied edge. I stand fast, but feelings tell me otherwise. And yet, courage swelters in an almost unimaginable way. But, enough of that for now. There is much love to gather.

When, the air of sunshine hits your face in the springtime lure of sweet grassy scents, you will know. Unexpected illuminous Lover of mine! Take me to your splendid garden and with cabaret senses at heart, lead me to your mansions of many, wandering through thy Self and that house I now call my soul. Celebrate! For the song of King David reigns in my heart as the Good Shepherd, and in him, and through him, his Eminence remains only as a faithful Lover.

I know, Love is not a gender, Love is not a color, nor is Love a denomination, but Love is the embodiment of people tenderly gazing into the Beloveds eyes, weeping in joy upon our Lover’s sight.