I have often heard love is a fallacy. I have often quoted that line myself. In pondering my fallen marriage I've come to the conclusion that "love" isn't the fallacy. It's our misguided perceptions of what love will bring us that are fallacies.

As love compelled me to hang on with all my might to a foredoomed relationship, I realized I was literally standing guard on needles and pins. I was oblivious to the ledge I was about to plunge over. I thought my love merited love in return. I thought my love, alone, was capable of bringing happiness. I thought love, alone, was enough. I was wrong.

After losing all I ever loved I know the love is real because I still feel it. But only in letting go of the fallacy of what love "should be", only in the death of my dreams, have I found hope for tomorrow.

This is one of the first poems I ever wrote.

I was 16 and inscribed these words on a card sent with a dozen roses to a girl I barely knew but was deeply infatuated with. This is a short poem; words didn't come easy to me back then. But in looking back, 15 years later I don't think I could express the feelings I had any better.

And yes, I got a kiss out of it.

Anyway, I wrote a poem last night just kind of in fun, trying to lighten up the mood over here. I wasn't thinking much of it at first but since you have
the greeting card section up now.....I got to thinking. This is a simple piece about a werewolf and the moon, but it might make a pretty neat card.

Some people wander aimlessly through life and never recognize their needs. They're lucky. Some people recognize their needs and wander aimlessly through life searching to fulfill them, but never seem to find what it is they desire so much, to be loved.

Emotion is often related to color, when we are sad we are said to feel "blue", when we are angry we see "red", etc. When I set out to write this poem, it was to be entitled "Colors" and describe purely what certain colors meant to me. In describing what I was writing to a dear friend, she shared with me her perceptions of the same colors I was writing of. I realized then colors weren't just about emotions at this point, mixed together, they become a portrait of the soul. This love poem compares two vantage points of colors to describe how one person's individual love has covered the deepest scars of a blemished past, given new hope, made me to see through untainted eyes, and truly repainted my soul.

Some people just can't get enough, what else can I say.

This poem is dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe, Lord Byron, Lord Alfred Tennyson, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Keats, and Abraham Lincoln, All of whom's poetry has been a never-ending source of inspiration and joy in my life.

How can you live when the best part of you dies? Where do you draw strength when your sole source of strength is taken from you?

This poem explores the loss of my father and the impact it had on my life. Even now, 6 years later, I can't seem to grasp the straws together to make my life whole again. Every day I fight with an enemy I cannot see. The one thing my father never taught me how to do.

I find this a very tough subject for me to elaborate on. Probably, because there is still much pain in my life stemming from this subject. When love dies there is often regret and sorrow but when you, yourself, cause the love to die the guilt, alone, can kill you.

I'm not sure if arrogance plays a part in making someone reach beyond what they already have for something they know they can never hold on to. I'm not sure what makes people think the grass is greener elsewhere, so to speak. The one thing I am sure of is someone I loved very deeply and who loved me back genuinely is no longer a part of my life, all for one night with a stranger.

Memories linger.

And sad memories, perhaps, linger the longest of all, holding us, touching us, never seeming to let go. Especially when the very majesty of our world is a constant reminder of what we had. Of what we lost.