Know, thy self
But can we?
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A poem
It’s verses soft petals,Looking for more room,Blooming notions,Thoughts that settle,And express,The heart’s own tune,In full bloom,Reaching for the moon.
The right to write
The deepest feeling, yetIt’s like a rose,Petals unfold,The morning gold,The love, you’llNot forget.
I love Idealists,
That still exist,They’re soft and kindAnd bear in mind,Those that have suffered,And that life,Has left behindAnd Those,That for lost Love,Have pined.I wish the worldWere made of such,Poet-IdealistsThat live above,The petty line,And still can findA star to kissAnd a verse,For allTo leave, behind.
At moments,
And then,Even without realizing it,Desperately, loved you.I suppose,There are differentKinds of desperate loves,Those you can’t leave behind,And forgetAnd those you can’t live without.In both cases, its hard not toCry and shout!
A thought, a feel
An artistic vision,Appears,SpontaneousAnd so dearWithout evenKnowing,What conditionsSynapse,What impulsesConnect,Push, extractThe essential essence,That createsThe work of art.
Fear is a terrible thing!
And ash,That keeps you fromGoing forward,Out of fearOf a deadly, Crash!I could have loved youBut I didn’t!Out of fear, and cowardiceAnd that I willRegret,All the rest of my life,For the deepest feelingIn life was then,Forever missed.