Feelings sweet, as a caress
From affection to distress,
From pure love to happiness
There in Poetry, they nest
Never more to be forgotten,
It is there,
Where they are blessed.
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‘You didn’t write That! ‘
The rhymes to Mother Goose,The pen, pencil and paper,Were made by slave labor,‘Oh My God! , and I thought,My thoughts were mine,And my feelings too’But No! That’s wrong,According to the ruling clowns,NOTHING, belongs to you.
No two days are the same,
What the future bringsBut if Love is there,All the rest,Are unimportant things.
The thin needle
Extracts,The poet’s bloodAnd writes with it,There is nothingFake there,There is no otherWay to write!You must leave,Part of you,Part of your lifeRight thereIn every writtenFiery, DazzlingFlare!
Love can be seen,
In a Look,So telling, so deep,That it resists and defies,All of Love’s secrets,And about feelings,Talks miles.
Search and ye shall learn,
Knowledge serves as Consolation,When alone, you’re getting by,Dries a portion of your tears,When you begin to cry.
An Actor can transmit,
And make you believe that they Are,True spiritual Greatness, by far