Only For Love

What good is a poem

Without its muse?

How could the starry night

Shine?

Even the sky has got the blues

When you cannot be mine.

So I open my hands

To the constellations

And let you pour

Onto my palette.

There is no art

Without saturation

And the innocent wonder

About it.

But for all my effort, my colors

May never paint you right.

This is the challenge of creation;

This is the artist’s plight.

Though the seed is softly planted

It may never reach the light.

But it is only for love

That I will search forever

In the deep and milky womb

For a word or a color

That represents you

And the beauty as you bloom.

When it’s right

It has to move me — 

Shake me, rattle me

To my center.

Even if the world

Crumbles around me

I won’t let myself surrender.

Because this love is bigger

Than love itself

And I will never settle

For less.

I need it to be like this

Forever — 

So good that I forget

All I thought was good for me,

And all I thought was true.

They fall to the earth

Like wishing stars

Because the only wish

Is you.

I only create

What you inspire.

And honey,

You inspire it all.

Every color

Is a healing aura

To cushion the hardest fall.

And after all,

It has only ever been for love

That I keep going on.

I will forever squeeze the rainbow

Until I find a song — 

Because if I can create

What fate has stolen,

Then it isn’t really gone.