Of pleasurable nectar,
Disappeared,
Till the wings of happiness
Were broken and seared,
But I never found you
And drowned in my own tears.
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Sadness slumbers in the wake
Shadows crawl along the wallsOf past incense,Each day succeeds one anotherLeaving no print, no memoryJust emptiness.
Like a miracle,
Poetry can recreateAnd transmit feelings.Something,That nothing elseCan do,A veritable and sincere,ConspiracyBetween the poet and you.
Happiness,
Of pure delight,When lovers meet,A flaming light,A moment swift,That thrills the heart,Lasts a few seconds,Then, we must part.Forbidden Fruit,Happiness Is,The smallest taste,Then all amiss,True love is short,May not exist,And still we dream,Of hidden bliss.
When I read certain Poetry,
The Sky seems near and within touch,The Spirit leaves its cage as such.A feeling of Immensity,Embraces me so totally,I feel ethereal and in touch,With Mysteries, I love so much,In trance with words I’ve never heard,Before me open brand new worlds,And I no longer can be me,My spirit Free thru Poetry.
The Humming bird,
The size of a flower,With beauty that towers,Wings tiny that sing.It’s made up of colors,Was born to be freeIn perpetual motion,A joy, just to see.
Poetry is Universal,
Since time immemorial,Poets are but fools that really care,They write to make things better,Love to spare.