But never dull,
So, away to discovery we go,
Where we’ll land?
We never know,
So much is written by itself,
Other times, by your secret elf.
Poetry!
Such a mystery,
In a few words,
Sometimes,
A whole life’s history.
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Poetry,
Error,Of the mindThat lifts usOff the ground,Flying high,Never betterThan when,Right poemFound.
No longer a star,
To do harm,Still,Spewed, poison,With much ‘charm’So his followers,SayWhen will we seeThe day?When politiciansNo longer can lieAnd the truth,Sway!Mountains of LiesThat could fillThe Oceans,Are they hereTo stay?
There are some that can create,
That thru mental, soulful motions,In the heart do undulate,And these soft, poetic words,Can propel to outer space,Tinged with such vivid emotions,Enthralling, the human race.These Magicians are not always,A reflection of their words,Some of them do hide malicious,Bad intentions, black sheep herds.Just because you are a Poet,Does not make you be, a Saint,So pay very close…
Nothing lasts under the Sun.
Will be no more, one day,Everything is transitoryNot even Love can save the dayNot even Love can save,Anyone or anything,From going, Forever, away.
Said once, a poet to a cow,
‘Call me pretentious,But so What!I like what I write,And that’s That! ‘
I miss the very sound of Love,
The looks of love, those never said,As emptiness took place instead,The pain and suffering linger on,As silence wins and dreams are gone.as