That no one will ever know,
Covered with eternal snow,
Placed upon the, Mountains high,
Where eventually they’ll die.
But the ‘Mal d’Amour’, my love,
Lack of love, were talking of,
That’s the saddest of them all
For a poet, above all,
Needs to share,
His love, his soul.
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Where does Time start?
Why do we need it?Is it because,We mostly fear,Being alone in Space?Tic-Tock goes the clock,As Life tics away,If only Time,Would permanently stay away,Forever young, never old,Then Time would just be,A Fairy Tale never told.
Funny the things that thrill us,
That become part of our existence,That we put up on a throne.Funny how we meet them,In a book, a film, a poem,There we find our Heroes,Made of dreams, not flesh and bone.Funny how we idealize,What we cannot be,Always wanting to be more,Than our reality.
Blessed are the Brave,
The freedoms of the World,How dare anyone say,That the US of A.,Is not Exceptional!This Country and its brave people,Have saved the World, so many times,In so many ways, allied with others,Made it possible, to have a brighter day,So Liberty, in this torn up World,Would always find it’s way.
Poetry,
You feed the soul,Accompany,Who cries alone.Of all you speakAnd feel it AllMost lower instinctsIn us, you stall,How not to be in love with you?When Love you write,And are love, too.
A rich interior life,
For the World is so polluted,Human ugliness, just mounts.In love with Art and Music,Not watching, the amounts,Intoxicating Beauty,That grows by leaps and bounds,The poet’s heart rejoices,To limpid, heartfelt sounds,Maybe a poem sees the light,As happiness is found.
As our hands become entangled,
I conclude with all this living,That most loves are quite unfair.Lovers seeking in the moonlight,Paths, perhaps they’ll never find,Hearts that wither like a flower,Memories, that stay behind.