Poetry, sort of spices all
That is in fact at hand,
Emotionally speaking
Everything around you
Becomes a bit more grand,
For example, Spanish guitars
If by pure fantasy,
You have imagined one
Poetically, at hand.
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Do not pretend
What you areNot!Sooner or laterThose with crocodileTears, Teeth and Smears,Are discovered,Plotting in theirRot,Believe it or not!
I think an investigation,
On all congressional, RatsAnd while we’re at itJust for their, entertainmentBring in a few, real hungry Cats!
Art needs no words,
It speaks,As minds and hearts it sways,To it’s own mysterious place,With its own perpetual music,Full of beauty, full of grace.
The musicality of verse,
I embrace it,It sooths and consoles me,Like a wind, blowing fantasyThru sound,Surrounding me all around,Inciting me to believeThat there are certain sounds,That time can never drown.
Gone are the caresses
Now I must content myselfWith virtual love,Difficult to doWhen all you’ve ever lived forIs, ‘I love you’.Difficult to face each morning,Without a vital yearningDifficult to faceThat song, without music,When you’re alone.
What a poem can express,
With just a few words,A whole lifetime of feelingsYou can scan,Lifetime, feelings, wordsPaper, pen, blend,From beginning to end.