Loving You

Because of you
My world is now whole,
Because of you
Love lives in my soul.
Because of you
I have laughter in my eyes,
Because of you
I am no longer afraid of good-byes.
You are my pillar
My stone of strength,
With me through all seasons
And great times of length.
My love for you is pure
Boundless through space and time,
It grows stronger every day
With the knowledge that you'll always be mine.
At the altar
I will joyously say 'I do',
For I have it all now
And it's all because of you.

By Vishal Narsian

Posted by Toni at 10:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0) |

A longing after more than outward pleasure,
A digging to discover hidden treasure.
An Aesop's net, where mouselike you may see
A nibbling coney set a lion free.
The pleasant'st game that ever was invented.
The sweetest sin, so hard to be repented,
That makes the lawyer plead without a fee
And the divine commit idolatry;
That makes the daring soldier to prefer
A single combat far before the war;
Turns age to youth, that once again they might
In August taste of pleasant May's delight.

Anonymous

Posted by Toni at 8:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0) |

You have come to me from a distant land,
Dreamer of dreams, to fill my hearts desire,
Sweet music flowing from your nimble hand
That plays within... to light my passion's fire.

A symphony of word and thought you bring.
Excitement builds upon crescendo's sound,
Brought forth in tones to make my light heart sing
For all the beauty that, with you, I've found.

A life is changed in just an instant's time,
All darkness fled before that brillaint sun
That shines from spoken words of softest rhyme
And speaks of treasures, only just begun.

This mystic meeting gives my heart a glow
That few have seen and only you will know.

By Gloria Jean Berry

Posted by Toni at 10:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0) |

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

 - Anaís Nin, 1903 - 1977

Posted by Toni at 10:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0) |

Grow old along with me!

The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which the first was made;

Our times are in his hand who saith, A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half; trust God:

See all, nor be afraid!

Robert Browning

Posted by Toni at 10:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0) |