It seems that only,
Poets and Fools,
Are still able to feel
And behave that way.
Pity!
How painful
And sad,
This is to say!
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Who lies best,
Sheep don’t notice,It’s a Sin.
A poet is amazed,
Of things noticed and unnoticed before,Wide and narrow, big and small,From fierce tiger to humble sparrow,For his eyes, heart and mind,Are compelled to write,And want to comprehend it All.
I wonder if an Author of a play,
While writing what they say?Becomes all his Characters created,Come what may?What a beautiful, full Life!In every way.
How do you remain
In an insaneWorld,How do you cultivateDreams,When they’ve all beenBlurred,Where do you findThe strengthTo go on,When all is so absurdAll Truth and DecencyGone!Nothing said, nothing heardCan ever bring back,The innocence and hope,Of those who once believed,In a Better World.
Every mind a mystery,
What goesThru a person’s mind,We are even mysteriesTo ourselves.Strange Life,And We,Stranger, still…
To like is not to love
You do not like your enemyWhom you will never loveNo matter what is taughtNor what people will try to sayPlease, lets not be hypocritesAnd pretend, we love ‘everyone’All the time, and every single day.