Do good

The budding leaves of life,So green, so tender soft,So fragile in their growth,And yes!The leaves they start to live,Eventually, generously will give,The oxygen we need and share,Until in winter they go bear.Trees,So strong in wooded majesty,So green your stately throne,A crown of leaves you proudly wear,As nothing else we’ve ever known.You give to us beauty…

For us to chose,It’s called ‘Free Will’

The PoetMust be the sameThe BirdFeelsWhen it sings,Me, thinks?

Writing to me is like a soothing potion,A session of psychiatric smoothing lotion,That brings me calm,And even if I never get things right,At least they have been put into motion,Thru this untangling of emotion,That Helps me, keep up Life’s fight.

And the look in your beloved eyes,That speaks to me always,And then to realize,That were both so lonely,Drifting apart with open arms,That never come together,In the ultimate, most desirable embrace,That never takes us to our state of grace,For we have never even met, face to face.

And takes the bird, your soul, by the wingSo it can sing, sing, sing!

Made out of tears,Resembling green rain.

Add to this the feeling of Forever,And the poet’s main ingredient,Which is Love.

And yet deep memories, of a kind,Keep binding me to You,To You, my Life and ever Love,Torn from me with such pain,Lost in the shivering fog of Time,With You, I shall remain.

Where Poetic Ships resist to come.As life goes on and the World turns,In me, less and less things start a fire,As life in me slowly turns away,No longer fanned by the Winds of Desire.

Music to my ears,Part of me is song.When I write a poem,I am never aloneIts tears are my tears,Its images, my smilesAnd the feeling of loveIt gives me,In me, never dies.

My peaceful day,Intensive gray,That will not stay,Just floats away,Perpetual change,How strange.The changing shapes,The light that drapes,Some shadows,Memories,The clouds are here,And then there gone,Like certainly will we

Tyrannical forces have permeated,All of human life, somehow!How sad it is….

Nor does it flower,Just at a bid.

Poetry deliberates,Has a short debate,With itselfShould It go into PoliticsOr join the CompaniesOf thousands of fake productsAnd Advertise itself,In order to be read and heardTo survive, the Present,So full of unquestionable,Mistakes.

Take care of themBe smart,Do not mistreat,Take them apart,Not too many,If any.

Won’t get them,Weasels, ‘He will!He’s the AmericanSheriff.The Courage and TruthOf a little known town,Called, ‘Veritas Hill’.Remember!A lot of bad ‘hombres’East and West,Did our countryBleed and twist,But good Sheriffs,So bravely,UnforgettablyHelped this Country,Decently,And with honorExist!

Imagination,Opening doorsTo a lifeOf exotic fascinationThat no money can buy.Wealth,Of soul and feelingsSpiritual sharing,Unequaled donation.