Category Archives: Love

What the Torturer Couldn’t Do

He cut on my sinews,

And smashed on my head.

But its all he could do,

And from it I little bled.


What hurt me the worst

Was not beholding her frame

How I couldn’t see her words

Or caress her lovely name.


Oh to not see my ardor

Please don’t ask me again,

I would break any door,

Just to be with my friend.


Alas there is a door

Too strong to break

When he stands there

My strength to take.


Oh sickness is evil,

My friend he is not,

He casts upon the vale

And rides in the rot.


To feast on flesh

He thinks himself mean

But its not that flesh

That really hurts me.


It’s my heart in truth

That bears all the pain

Separation bit in its tooth

And my strength did wane.


Oh when will it end

My absence from her?

So I can again attend

My affection with her.

What Distance Ate

Distance has captured my love,

He will not let her go.
No matter how hard I pull,

He always runs the show.


I tried to free her from his chains,

Of silver and hard stone.

I pushed hard and hard I pulled,

Yet he didn’t even groan.


Distance is a formidable foe.

And hard he is to fall.

I called loud after my love,

Yet distance ate my call.


I tried to run and get her,

To pull her from his grasp,

But he wouldn’t have it,

He wouldn’t let me pass.


So now here I sadly sit,

To watch time’s passing by,

I wait here so silently

Waiting for just one more try.


-Coram Deo 2-18-05

Oh Fair Maiden

Oh fair maiden bright and true,

Don’t you know my love for you?

How I long for your hand to hold,

To live together and grow old.


Oh fair maiden of summer’s noon

Don’t you know what I would do?

I would love you tell eternity’s end,

And gravities pull ceased to bend.


Oh of fairer maiden there is none,

My love for you is the sun,

It burns my heart in its flame,

And consumes me at your name.


Oh fair maiden I wish you knew

How much I truly love you.

But alas I fear this dreadful turn:

My love for you wont be returned.


-Coram Deo

Here Now Precious

Know this my precious, I am here.

I neither judge you nor see you ill.

You are beautiful like a burning star,

Here I come to you no matter how far.


Before God you stand and who am I;

To judge one who belongs in the sky.

Hear this cry my precious wife,

I love you and cherish your life.


You are pure beauty to me,

And I wish nothing else to see.

Before I met you; you I loved,

And I love you more now, my dove.


Hush now my darling angel I adore,

Hold me close now, you I implore;

Permit me to love away your tears,

Forever serve you all our years.

A Dream Now Seen

Now I will show you where beauty flies,

And display to you its true breed.

There, under the skin she lies,

Always wanting to be set free.

She is displayed in a breath;

Held close in many dreams

Always she will pass the test,

Showing the world what she means.

Pleasing is her presence told, while

Outside we receive her prizes,

Embodied in her very soul: the

Mortal with angelic irises.

The Spark

There once was a spark
That burned hot and true
He traveled in the heavens,
Burned his way through

He fell to the earth
To play his great part,
He came here to burn,
To ignite a dead heart.

A flame he was not,
But nots can change
When they meet that,
They burst into flames.

That which they require
Is nothing less
Than that which burns
A flammable substance.

Any matter will do
A heart it can be,
And many times it is.
Something that meaty.

When hearts do burn
Hot and bright
Sparks where the reason
Why they did ignite.

This spark came forth,
Born in eternity past,
To came here hence
To burn bright at last.

When hearts do meet
Sparks turn to flames,
And burn us all,
To combine our names.

by Ryan Wormald

Love Not in Dreams

Dreams can be pitiful things,
When your secret love in them flies.
They do to you terrible things,
When you see your hidden love’s eyes.

She torments me in my dreams,
This love who knows not my name.
There she does to me dreadful things,
And treats my love like a game.

Then I awake to see her not,
The love who knows not my name,
But in my heart I still rot,
To wish she’d love me all the same.

by Ryan Wormald

Be Mine

Will you be,
With eyes so bright,
And a smile so wide,
My date tonight?

Will you go,
With skin so fair,
And lips so full,
On my arm there?

Will you hold,
With hands so warm
And fingers so tight,
My heart in form?

Will you be,
With hair that shines
And kisses soft,
My Valentine?

by Ryan Wormald

Alone Again

I silently watched you,
Softly covered with dew.
Flower so delicate and strong,
My gaze stayed perhaps, a time to long.

Pretty flower why must you torture me so.
I am so fragile and weak, you don’t even know.
Oh that I could hold you my precious flower,
No longer then would I have to cower.

My fear of flowers, bids me fair haven.
Perhaps it is because they are a bit of heaven.
In my dreams I can watch with an unabashed eye,
The flowers in the garden pass me by.

You my precious flower, I cannot see but in my dreams,
Perhaps it is a curse, to see you only in my dreams.
But then if I saw you here today,
I would no doubt runaway.

What do I have to bring?
That would make a flower’s heart ring.
That would bring a flower to my door.
Perhaps then, I, you will no longer ignore.

I stand in the garden every day,
Hoping you will come by and stay.
But for now in my dreams you live.
Perhaps later, to me, your heart you will give.

Perhaps later,
Yes it must be later.

by Ryan Wormald

The Life of Love

Wrought in depths of feeling’s light,
It may falter in the night.
Through a spark it was conceived,
But now it lives on in deed.

Mere words cannot express
The feelings in one’s chest.
But in their solemn absence
Will the words still make sense?

Proof is in a pudding’s taste,
But not a heart’s pounding race.
Actions are the truer words
Beyond the bees and the birds.

Emotions are the lesser sense,
When deeds live on in the absence.
Works wrought upon the icy breast
Mold more than words would impress.

In a covenant’s demands,
Actions over words must stand.
Important to the fight are both,
But one binds with stronger rope.

Love is fragile in the tones,
Where it loans more than it owns.
But the acts build stronger homes,
Anchored in cement and stone.

by Ryan Wormald