Thomas Plotz

I love you, my friend
My girlfriend, standing before the masses
Speaking from the arena, with the clashes
Peering into her soul
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The Lovely Moon shines
On your rare, skin bare
Blinding me with - illumination of your beauty
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Lost without question
The truth will make you shake
Lost without Hope
The sun will make you bake
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Light shimmering through the old
Fox Ridge Pines,
Dancing between, the needles of time.
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I have read, all the poems you posted.
I have heard, the songs you sung.
I'm trying to find you too.
I'm trying to find, what I have missed.
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Bacon oh bacon, gelatinous goodness, smoky, salted taste.
Cooking slow; till your perfection. Baking Bacon; in the land of Lincoln, at early morning light. Sizzling bacon, crackling in a cast iron pan; rendering the fat down with delight. Cooking slowly, concentrating the bacon flavor. Filling your home with aroma; drops of vapor, drift from room to room, with a peaceful alarm. You're not mistaken, when waken with bacon. The scent alerting your family members and pets, to wake up and make hast, to the table.

Bacon, pick your flavor, pick your cut. Thick cut, thin cut, super thick, Canadian. Try fully cooked, apple wood, cherry wood, or hardwood. Making bacon the way you want.
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At the top of the rock
The moss is still, but green,
Hibernating
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Forgive me please, for what I might say,
For I'm shrouded with the loss; of thought and knowledge,
Locked deep in the keep, below,
In the inner compartments of my mind,
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Two blue Jays
In the naked tree
Casting there hungry
Eyes, down at me
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You’re my Rock, my forever love
Promise to me on Mt. High, with blue sky
Among the tall green grasses, tasting sweet
Sweeting treat flavor, of your love
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Today I stood with buffalo
Upon their rock, in the sun
Walked steadfast along the snow melted byway
High along the ledge, pledging myself to you
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It's time, to pray
With another beginning
For us to stay
With everlasting love
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Now April spring time has arrived

The cherry blossoms are making there show
With scents and color, streaks tied with a bow
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Lay here and dream with me
Hold me tight
Through the night
We will put your fear at rest
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Need to drive to the
Top of the hill
Where the tall pines stand
To feed my sole, by taking a stroll
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This isn't done - My Sun My Baby
Everything - is left, to do
Our Promise, from on top of the hill
Still, needs to be filled
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Your the one, I run for
The reason I come home
My wheels aren't turning fast enough
Needing to soar high and roam
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Baby, my head hurts from the lack of you
My heart tearing apart in two
I’m seeing swallows darting in the sky
I’m asking why…
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The windmill have ended, their blaring arrival
Twirling down with a gust of wind
Tan, winged blades, flying in air
I’m sure the Wright brothers received the flaring idea of flight from,
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