That most,
Cannot write
About things
They don’t believe in
Or even feel
In a very strong way.
Poetry is the sincerest
Form of expression,
Maybe, the very first,
That tried to portray
Love,
In a written way,
As glorious light
Found,
And dearest possession.
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Think if you can,
We think we have a brain,But when used,It resemble more a tiny grain,That when planted does not seem,To go too far,Man is the only animal,That hits himself against,The same obstacle, more than once,And doesn’t seem to see the stars,If you have a chance,Think about it,For we are more stupid,Than we think we are or look,Even…
Love,
It is the glorious,FeelingThe Whole WorldShould be made of.
The joy of being with you,
No words or useless chatter,Are needed to feel this:A flight towards all Eternity,A breath of perfumed bliss,An amorous wind, embracing,The fulfillment of a kiss.All This you are to me and More,My life, my heart, my very soul,Before we were together,Did I exist at All?
We are at a Crossroad,
The train has left the station,And is sorely off the track,Our priorities cannot wait,Tomorrow will be too late,Values must be put back in place,WIN we must, this very last race.This Nation,Founded, to drown the misery,That Europeans knew so well,Must not succumb, to their wreched past,Embrace falsehoods and false prophets,That will not last,Our pride in Truth…
Poetry is Universal,
Since time immemorial,Poets are but fools that really care,They write to make things better,Love to spare.
Vibrating rhythm
Flowing in wavesWhat comes first?The idea or the rhyme,Or is feeling, the sign?There’s no written orderNor universal formula,Inspiration is magicalAnd just likeTemptation, it happensLike rain fallingOr the miracleOf Love’sIncredible, calling.