Autumn,
Only beauty weaves,
Artist colors,
Red, Green, Gold,
Nature paints,
With brushes bold!
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Those who spend their time,
Better be aware,that they won’t make a dime.But at least, the words are Free,And must always be used,Respectfully.
I have no one to talk to,
That makes me terribly depressed,For I am not my friend,I know myself too well,Enemies march home together,My company is no company,I try to talk to myself,Certainly not in public,For I’d be taken away,I try to talk to myself,And I’ve got nothing to say.Another day,The few words that come are Hollow and Hurt,A dead Rose, as…
Love,
The endless givingTo one another,As feelings travelFrom hand to hand,Hearts are a beaming,Life’s meaning foundThen two togetherHear Heaven’s sounds,Then lovers wonderHow could they everHave lived apart.
You give me calm,
What do I need?You are the best,Amongst tall trees,The greenest one,That gives me shade,From burning sun,I wonder how,And why we met,Was I in love?Oh no, not yet,I had to feel,Deep in your heart,To know just then,We’d never part.
The joy that Poetry brings
It’s like someone holding your handWhen you’ve given up on everything.
Strict poetic forms
Today, an open pathTo poetic Liberty,Poets writeOpenly,Freely flowing in streamsOf inspirationAnd personal fantasyLetting a poem beWhat it has to beUnfettered and freeSuppressing, no inspirationModels of self-determination,Independence,And poetic, universality.