Not even good enough,
To be words that will remain,
Under a canapé of clouds,
Yelling, so that all can hear,
How they, the elected Clowns will satisfy,
All the people, listening, stupefied.
But once elected, promises forgotten, rejected,
The same trap year after year, the same veneer,
Poor foolish Seals, with their clapping hands,
Hope and change, always buried, in the same old Sands.
A ham and cheese sandwich.
Extracts,The poet’s bloodAnd writes with it,There is nothingFake there,There is no otherWay to write!You must leave,Part of you,Part of your lifeRight thereIn every writtenFiery, DazzlingFlare!
Fulfillment awaits,For those who have found it,It’s like livingIn an independent Star,No,Nothing else matters,Because,‘There you are! ‘And the whole World sings,And no matter how many thingsMay be going wrong,Love always heals,With its miraculous song.
Than those that don’t.Those who loveAre more fulfilledThan those that don’tThose who write PoetryDon’t give upSo, neither you nor IWon’t.Those who love LibertyDon’t lie, to exerciseControl,So, as Americans,We won’t.
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.
