Poetry is a subset of a Cosmos, which in itself, is a poem.
Ridicule has historically proven itself a rickety fence for great ideas.
Sometime is that appointment, the final one to meet. Let's color all with love, for Time is naught but fleet.
If you were the sky, I would unfurl myself in you, as a rainbow of colors yet unseen. I would become oceans of stars in your night.
Love is not blind. Love sees what is most true
Mediocrity inspires neither great love nor hate.