You say I astound and tease you, tell me how?
You have withheld yourself from all that I allow.
Giving baroque words flourish; this you’ve refused to nourish
I have called to you on the veranda on warm spring day
I was the ripple of warmth felt in a snow drift’s pattern sway
Though you held an umbrella drops of me hit you anyway
Yet you’ve discarded all words that I’ve begged for display
Love, what has caused this rift? Why deny yourself my gift?
Know that only for a select few, I share this I’ve given to you
What fear has triumphed so much that you cannot heed
That which for lucky others is the very blood they bleed
I give unto the language of lamentations desperate need
And word the story of a triumph over a dastardly deed
How oft’ you silenced this voice? As though you have choice!
Again you have me in hand, say the words; make them grand
Deny me not, I am your muse, know this passion will last
The days to chase me away is now a thing of the past
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Raivenne-lations 