Or have no proof of
How to handle,
Not only your fingers
May get singed
But your own
Integrity and reliability
May be questioned,
Melted or burnt away
Like a lying, candle.
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Ah, the good old times!
Ah, the good old times!When Life was LifeNot just an unmelodious trance.
Wonderful paintings
Sensations, desires,FeelingsThat don’t expire,Talented choirThat echoesIn the distance,Bringing us closerTo LoveAnd Life’s fire.
Poetry!
ThoughtsFeelingsFrom the heart,BlazeLife!CreatedIn a sort of tranceWith no formula,To even give itA head start,A miracle,A mystery,In which the poetJust plays,Gratefully!His humble part.
Can we depend on Those without spine,
NO, Certainly not!We need new leaders, like those of yore,Those who really love this Country,And brought it from Nothing to More,The promise of tomorrow, can still be ours,If we elect true patriots,That don’t speak from False Towers,Then Americans!We can still have our finest hours!
Are waters from the Spring of Life,
Of lost souls that in solitude,Search for Life’s light in vain.Souls in perpetual solitude,Reaching for a hand,To hold, to have as soothing guide,Thru Life’s uncertain land,A hand that speaks of love and help,That always will be there,To give and feel and understand,And wipe the tears that flare.
In order to fight,
I always return to Poetry,It’s my psychiatric Oasis,The best of friendsThat will ever be,A very good form of therapy.