I conclude with all this living,
That most loves are quite unfair.
Lovers seeking in the moonlight,
Paths, perhaps they’ll never find,
Hearts that wither like a flower,
Memories, that stay behind.
I conclude with all this living,
That most loves are quite unfair.
Lovers seeking in the moonlight,
Paths, perhaps they’ll never find,
Hearts that wither like a flower,
Memories, that stay behind.
Nor totally foreseen,Time is a special Trap!Reality or Dream?
Out of kilter,Out of normAnd out of form,Free, exciting,Passion tornWhere roses growAnd verses flow,Where spirit streams,Infinite dreamsWhere only poetsWant to go,Where Love is bornSometimes a rose,Sometimes a thorn.
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.
It remains a living witness,Of how words can turn to Art.
Since Robert M.SmithHas gone.Poem HunterNot the same!Its luster and shinePoetic grace,Gone!Feel sort ofOut of sortsAnd sort of numb.