And yet, much the same,
Intensity, passion,
Varies at times,
But we all feel excitement,
As love in us climbs.
Those dearly beloved,
To have and to hold,
In Truth, overwhelming,
So precious, so bold,
The touch of hands meeting
As if they were gold,
And passion, real passion,
As never been told.
The excitement, the throbbing,
When loved one appears,
The flow, overwhelming
Of love as they near,
A tempest, explosion,
As lips hardly touch,
You don’t need more magic,
To tell you it’s Love.
If it weren’t for Imagination,Where would we be?The World’s not a pretty place,And neither are we.
As in Governments,Nothing rare,One side of the coin isFor public consumption,The other, for whenNobody’s there.
Like no other,For the conscience, to bother,The mind to jolt,Awaken the soul,Make us grow,And even guide us,From one shore to another.
Especially whenUsed by someoneFor somethingI have written,For it mystifiesIn me,Deep feelingsOf gratitude,Thrilling,My otherwise,Inconsequential,Existence.
An Unreal World,Idolatry,Greek gods, Olympus,Scrutinized,They travel freely,Thru the skies.The World is blue,The Sky is Grey,I see your shadow anyway,Illusions that provoke a thrill,A poet’s mind is never still.A Poet is a creature strange,Sometimes all there,Sometimes derangedImagining the weirdest things,As if the mind had purple wings,Trying to reach across the way,Wanting to say more than we…
No matter how bright it did shine,It could not really modify,Man’s Inhumanity!
