Is the miracle of the great artist
By always implanting, Feeling.
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Only very deep Poetry
That the Spirit, Frees.
Delight of delights,
Writing Poetry,Even if not the best,Your soul is at rest,And your mind fancy free,Love reaching Poetry,That is what you areAnd will forever be.
Greta Garbo was wrong,
It’s a mistake to Want to be alone,In the darkness of the tunnel of your thoughts,Even a small candle, lit by someone who cares,Can save you from life threatening nightmares,From the cold, from the trembling fright,From becoming, a solid pillar of stone,Without feelings, without lightAll alone, like a frightened child,In the middle of the Night.No…
Who knows,
To Life’s toll?For each they’re different,Big or small,In any case,In any Time,Love seems to be,Still, Life’s best Rhyme.
Up and down
Life moves,MysteriouslyIn leaps and bounds,It’s greatest treasureIt’s sweetest soundIs surely, Love,If ever found.
Imagination,
Amplification of New Horizons,Visions of ‘Sugar Plum Fairies’,Dancing on the prairies,Of the Mind.Off to the Conquest,Of New found Lands,Where Feelings can be scanned,Deeply, Sincerely,Aesthetically,PatheticallyEven Poetically,Without license,Freely,Playing the music,Of all Lands,Of all People,Universality,Dancing,Holding Hands.