A person, a paper, a promise.

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.

(This poem is from a book called 'the perks of being a wallflower' by Stephen Chbosky.)

A love so deep...

She walked along the beach and felt the sun soaking into her skin. A warmth so comforting, and one which she'd missed. Around her lay the creations of her Father - those which he'd made a time so long ago that she couldn't even comprehend where his ideas came from. A time so long ago that His creations had even changed a little. Time does that to things. It can make what was once beautiful, ugly. And it can make what was once ugly, beautiful. Time can do a lot of things, but she knew it wouldn't change the way she loved Him.

The world around seemed to disappear as she let her thoughts wander. To a stranger or passer by she looked to be alone, but she knew better. She smiled a glorious smile, all to herself. Her Father was still with her, somehow. She didn't need to know the answers - she just needed Him. Her smile disappeared as she gazed at the ocean. Her face now held a different expression - one that is hard to describe. Her eyes were filled with tears, but not the sort which come from pain. Such passion and joy as cannot be described were written into each tear, but they did not fall from her eyes. She breathed deeply, filled with a love so deep, so intense, so full.

The sun reflected a million stars onto the ocean. The wonder and beauty left her lost for words. But she didn't need words. He knew how she felt. And as she stood there, loving Him for all that He is, but only truly knowing a fraction of His glory, she couldn't help but think that this creation was made just for her.