That still believes
That Hope and Love,
Can still exist,
Somehow…
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Love Hurts,
Not always receiving,But without it,Living is not living,For loving is giving,The most precious gift,That you can give,And the most fulfilling.
What each one of us
Is so weird, so strangeNo two of us totally alikeYet, wanting to guess and reachThe Other’s human rangeYet, never fully understandingOr being able to communicateEnough, to fully get alongOn Life’s mysterious stage,We are even enigmas,To ourselves.
The sweetness
On our feelings does impose,A purity, a peace that glows,That only Nature can compose.A Rose does impose,Beauty,Thru visual power,Symbolizing,Love,Therefore being,Poets and Angeles,Favorite flower.
Can hate ever disappear?
Of new love, crystal clear,Can hate ever go away?So we can live our short lives,The right way.I don’t lose hope,Birds of different feathers,Can fly together,Peace!
By now,
That nothing really changes,In the Rotten World of Politics,The same old lies,The same old painful sticks.They, with their shadowy tricks,Still believe today,That we, the PeopleAre just a bunch of hicks,Always ready to be thrown,Into their Mixmaster’s mix.
There are poems
Others thatLeave you,Totally cold,But we mustRead on,Write onBecause sometimes,Surprise, surpriseWe find,That hidden gold!
That still believes
That Hope and Love,
Can still exist,
Somewhere, Somehow…
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As much as I have
Human natureNever pretendingTo have exhausted,The possibilitiesOf understandingOur dementia,I am ready to give up.Unjustified hate,Cruelty, murderIs something so, irrationalSo inhumanly insaneI can no longer,Try to understandNor this injustice,Pretend to silently take.Since man saw manCain saw Abel,In the promised landSince immemorial, timesWe’ve been killing,Slandering, each otherTo steal things fromOne anotherPossessions, lifeHow can we trust thoseThat speak hateThat…
A true Poem should always be,
A real reflection of his inner Soul,A sincere picture that says it All,Only in this way will the Poet play,His most unusual and gratifying role.
Life is fickle, life is fast,
So we travel all alone,And our Present is our past.
Free Spirit,
Does not follow all the facts,Psychological normality,In most instances does lack.Dreamer,Never schemer,In Life’s inconsistent act,Chasing shadows, past and present,Knowing nothing’s here to last.Planner,Like the wind blowing thru willows,One day strong and one day not,Spirit up and spirit down,Tenderness that will not stop,Easily called, sentimental,Emotionality on top.Pinnacle, conclusion,As Free Spirit, most important,Feel intensely to all depth,So…
The irresistible urge
Infinitely…To go as far as feelings,CanBeyond the body, beyond the mindBeyond all time,As only true deep lovers,Can.A love like thatWould be, divine.Infinite Love,Does it exist?Yes, maybeOut of space and out of timeIn some unknown, mysteriousPlace,Where all Love and feelingsLeave no trace.Because they go beyondOur understanding,As holy, miraculousBlessed grace!
The things we do,
Reactions ofCandle to wick,The candle burns,As Life does too,Destroys the wickAs flames go thru,Only true LoveCan help surviveAnd thru it allKeep us alive.