Freedom of Being
Ensues.
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The Intensity of Feeling,
Nor does it flower,Just at a bid.
Poetry’s for sharing,
Must be exteriorized,To share all smilesTo share all tears,Ever felt or cried.
The right to write
The deepest feeling, yetIt’s like a rose,Petals unfold,The morning gold,The love, you’llNot forget.
Like children,
And Want!And once we Have,We destroyThat,That gave usWhat we wantedAnd thoughtWe could not have.Eternal paradoxesAre we,More and moreIrrational,And therefore,Much less free.
The piercing Beauty of Poetry,
The Mystery,That is the Charm of Poetry.Thoughts do remain in the Abstract,Feelings, expressedMore than mere fact,Difficulty to comprehend,Their Spirituality.
Poets know,
Flowered Rhymes,But can’t change History,PITY!