Searching Poem by Little King of Sorrows

Searching soul, you musn't rush,
time the paint of heaven's brush.
Slow and steady wins the race,
chaos comes of quicken pace.
Send for me a whitened dove,
For Angel true, its you I love.
A corner I must slowly turn,
A phoenix rising still is burned.
As sure as sun is kissing me,
A place inside I save for thee.
Shorten rhyme I try to do,
To spend a moment here with you.
My coo of patience seeking,
of all your heart is speaking.

© 2013 L.K.Sorrows