Saturday night folly,
Happiness at will,
Drowning all blue sorrows,
Not knowing,
What black tomorrows
Will deeply living, bring,
Chocolate, Whiskey
For the moment
Make worries stand still,
Enamored with the moon,
Giving, happiness at will.
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A poem must fly,
And take you to placesDeliriously, bannedExcitingly, highWhere words become feelings,And love is just greatAnd there is no healingBecause there’s no hate.
When you’re alone,
When someone dear,Is no longer near,You feel disowned,Darkness fills,The atmosphere,Life becomes painfully seared,Tears become your comfort zone.It’s hard, I know,It’s the hardest thing,We must go thru,And the pain never stops,No matter what you do.
A poem wants to be,
That together stick,Not just some candle,Without a wick.A poem wants to be,True spiritual form,Words that blend, not monotone,Language, feelings and the soul,Open eyes that know no ceiling,Words that are, you’re very own,That you want someone to read,Hoping, they will make them strong,Holding out your heart in hand,Singing Life’s perpetual song,Feelings shared in unison,Words that say,…
As if they were our children,
And when they go,No place to go,To recuperate,Such Love.
Why look for the truth?
Truth has been murderedBy the very ones that said,They held Her, firmly,In their closed fist.
The Magic of poetry,
Things and feelings,You cannot see,But that are felt, effortlessly,One might say, miraculously.