Once tasted,
Necessity, tugs
As a Must
And you crave its
Biting, lust,
That serenades,
The dust
We are all
Made of.
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Dreams are made
Of love that never,ComesOf trembling leavesAnd mortal fearsWhere even TimeSuccumbs.We can’t controlEven our dreamsAs much as we wouldLike,Or even knowAnd comprehendThe message said,That night,When all was darkAnd all light fled,For love had reallyDied,Except in dreamsWould LoveCome back to Life,But what was realIs what you feltWhen in your dreams,You cried,Those stolen dreamsThat well it seemsWere never…
Two steps away from Madness,
The Blood rushing to his sadness,That nobody can hear.
Poetry’s good
Especially,To have a good cry,Invisible tearsThat don’t physicallyAppear,But can be readAnd feltIn black and white.
I can’t forget you
I try.I will never be preparedFor that final,Goodbye.Love is a specialTyrant,And I can’t explainWhy,But every timeI think of your departure,I break down and cry.
I love you,
When you know nothing,Of why I am me.I love you,How can you tell?When you hardly know me,Or understand me wellI love you,How can that be?When I know,You will never,Be close to me.Like hidden meanings,In Poetry,Love scales the walls,Of Impossibility.
Like old friends,
Can be watchedAnd appreciated,Over and over again.The Art of FilmTime does not dim,True talent,In all domainsSings immortality’s hymn.