Nor of a woman’s, love,
For it’s by love
That we are mostly
Made and born of.
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Not all poems are created equal
Two brooks, next to each otherWill meander in different sense.No love is like any other,Be it bland or intense,But in this world,So full of horrorLove seems to beThe only thingThat makes any sense.
‘Living above the clouds, ‘
Sown together by imagination,No open seams,Constructing a perfect world,Where all get along,Where beauty and love reignFrom an imaginary throne,Certainly a poet’s dreamBut reality never follows,Their idealistic stream,So, therefore, regrettingTo say the truth,I end my silly song,Hoping, I am wrong.
We’re all so corrupt and crumbly,
The oven is cool, compared to you,You’ve got no positive heat,Any day of the week,Even on Sunday.
Poetry’s very special,
Handmade,Spanish guitar,Poetry, has toLook, Sound, right,Vibrate, be alive, danceBe molded by the SoulTravel from its melodic trance,Right into your loving heart.
Sometimes, I feel I’m floating,
That will push me into the Ocean,It I cry real strong and loud.Sometimes, I feel like dreaming,When there’s nobody around,That the World’s an empty Castle,And that Joy, can still be found.Sometimes, I feel like hiding,In the Black Hands of a Clock,And destroying Time forever,Would that really be a shock?Sometimes, I feel like walking,Directly into the…
I love your voice,
The words of love you say to me,Amazing velvet, lovingly.You’re voice, your words,So dearly heard,Remain inside my heart,A secret of love’s mystery,Where voice plays such a part.