All Silences come together,
In something called,
Night.
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Loving,
And passion,A poet is no more,Than that.Each poet,Owns his fashionAnd reality,And really wantsNo moreThan that.Life could become so scary,If poet’s words, his passion goesFor Poetry is everything,A poet wants or even knows.
I love you!
In my head, heart and knees,May I always have the pleasureOf your company,Dearest, please!
My Soul’s no longer mine
Stole it awayAnd leftWithout sign,A single wordNot one I heardYou were no longer mine.Since then,Just emptiness, surrounds,The soul, I thought was mine,You took it with you,Making Gray,All sunshine, will not shineNor will another living dayBe happy or even mineI won’t defend, nor will pretend,That stealing love is fine.
I suppose
Happiness, does existBut is it not, just aboutThe most looked for,Overrated, Fairy TaleThat in our HistoryExists?
Dreams, Imagination, and other Time wastefuls,
‘We do, because without us,Life can be a very sad and serious bind.’
You thrill me, chill me,
Love fills with grace,The empty space,Of many Worlds.