Maybe,I waste my time
But I don’t belittle,
Or try to harm
In any way,
With what I say,
It’s just that Poetry
Is my deep passion,
In a very special say,
I write to live
And I live to write,
I suppose that Love
Has always been that way.
Maybe,I waste my time
But I don’t belittle,
Or try to harm
In any way,
With what I say,
It’s just that Poetry
Is my deep passion,
In a very special say,
I write to live
And I live to write,
I suppose that Love
Has always been that way.
No matter what,We’re always,Looking for trouble!The word ‘Peace’Must be something,Some foolFound in the rubble.After,We’ve destroyed ourselves.Then, maybe?We’ll be ableTo stay out of trouble!
Whether it’s made up,Hurting or real.
Their inner Life with others,Most gents don’t care,And If they’re there,They hardly like each other.
Wish I were a bell or chime,Just to rest my heart, from Time,And the tyranny of rhyme.
When isToo much, too much?Too much thinkingToo much lovingToo much feelingToo much tryingToo much cryingToo much accusingEach other of racistBlubberToo much protestingFor nothing,For unbridled change?Where does it stop?Where does it end?In heaven or in hellWhen its so overdoneAnd its justToo much!Bordering,With insanityStaying out of touchWith realityOverboard, terrifyingBecoming a menace,A maladyNeither the 21st centuryNor the people…
They will say ‘US is Shoddy’,Over here you’re just Nobody,Finished, ‘au revoir’ Finito.