You realize, much too late
The time you’ve lost,
Will not return
And no longer can you pick,
Because time wasted,
Cannot be recovered
Nor make,
Anything positive
Stick.
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Many a time.
Disappointment,DisillusionmentIn life and heart,Come, some of the bestPoems,Miraculous Metamorphosis,Pain turns into Art.
You can always come back,
As if it were an old friend,That to sentiments does lend,An opening, deep and through.You can always go backTo ‘That’ poem,The one that when was readTraversed your heart,At that moment,Was just what you needed,The very close friend,That to your pain,A sympathetic ear did lend.
My poetry is free,
It has a life of it’s own,In which I can participate,But never, fully own.
Creators of
At times,Artistic SkyscrapersThat defy the passageOf TimeThru talent, heart,And art,And yet! ,Masters of unimaginableCruelty and Horrors,Distributors,Of pain and death,The Horrible Paradox,Of human behavior,Itself!How can we be,One and the same?To be so,Artistically creativeYet also,Alas!Monstrous creatorsOf so muchDestruction and pain.
Tenderness, the feeling,
Feel good all over,As if for the first time,You felt,The love embrace of the blue Sea’sVastness, and beauty,All ecstasy.Tenderness,The rocking of a cradle,A new life that comes to be,A cry for immortality.Tenderness,The most elusive of feelings,Passion turned into serenity,Sensibility’s window,Indispensable part, of Love’s story,The sweetest of sentiments, Glory.
Yes, never a dull moment,
An ever changing World,Not very close to Paradise.