These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die,like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume.

________________________________________
TIME PASSES. EVEN WHEN IT SEEMS IMPOSSIBLE. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

Along with the wind,Sunshine
Playfully swings,spending her day
Caught up in magical dreams.

Whooshing through the air
As if she had wings,pretending butterflies
Can actually sing.

She pictures them flying on colorful notes
And up to the clouds she magically floats.

Creating wonderful thoughts
Sunshine is never alone
for she lives in a world that is all her own.

I'm sorry for the way I look at you,
I'm sorry for the smile you put on my face,
I'm sorry for loving you the way I do,
I'm sorry I can't be her,
I'm sorry I can't be your perfect girl,
I'm sorry for the color of my hair,
I'm sorry for the way I look,
I'm sorry for the sound of my voice,
I'm sorry for the clothes I wear,
But most of all I'm sorry I can't be perfect.