As I prune these vines of rhyme
In want of ripe gifts to give,
These scribed silhouettes of time
Will dim from the life I live.

I walk the passed cityscapes
And recluse within coffee.
Days fade to blacken the shapes
In each sip of evening tea.

As I reach life's overlook,
How can I pen this expanse?
Simple rhymes within a book
Cannot convey your substance.

For woven in my story
Runs an invisible thread.
I play a minor party
To whom to which I am led.

Nights of "chaotic ripples"
And days of "canopy rock"
Are poetic examples
Of your gentle, steady knock.

Despite my "carnal allure"
Or despondent "shades of gray,"
There stands my worn soul's lover
Who shepherds along the way.