As if it were an old friend,
That to sentiments does lend,
An opening, deep and through.
You can always go back
To ‘That’ poem,
The one that when was read
Traversed your heart,
At that moment,
Was just what you needed,
The very close friend,
That to your pain,
A sympathetic ear did lend.
Similar Posts
The Mysteries of the Mind,
What? Cubism?Paths that wind and intertwine,Going where?To doubts and scares,Reaching for the Stars,But downward stares,Lost in Paradise,And nobody, cares.The Mysteries of the Mind,Sometimes,They keep us out of touche,Even with ourselves,And yet, it is Mystery, as suchThat makes us feel so much,And pushes us to care.
Delicately simple,
Adorn,A page,In worded colorsAs their stage.A poem,SimpleOpens its Life’s cage,And like a monarchButterfly,Liberated from cocoon,A whole new World begins,Believe it or not,But it’s likeTraveling to the MoonOn Poet’s Wings.
Great Poetry,
Nobel, long tastingPalatably charmingAnd fine,Accumulating,Feeling with time,In other words,Unforgettably,Divine.
I have some ideas,
Feelings premiere, but are not way on top,I am confused, Doubt’s Runner-Up,The more I Live, the more I Doubt,No one will tell me, ‘the coast is clear’Nor why we live, nor why we’re here,So I’ll go on, day in and day out,Still wondering and not finding out,What this Strange Life is all about.
What is fair
It all dependsWho, is doingThe cookingAnd what ingredientsWere put intoLife’s melting pot.Few,Cook the right thingSome like it mildSome like it hotAnd others don’t evenKnowWhat ingredients toPut in their pot.Life is full of bad recipesPlease, be prudentAnd try to chose a good one.
Impressive, Expressive, Depressive,
And Feelings, that are out of sight,Have a certain way of becoming aggressive,A certain way of becoming, oppressive,When you are alone, up tight,Lonely, in the loveless night,And Black Butterflies enter your soul,Silently, causing such Fright!Fluttering alone, flying only, by night….