Since you never stop talking
And giving wrong accounts,
False and slimy politicians
Owe the Lied-to of the World,
A very large amount.
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The trouble with Poetry
It feels too muchSees too muchWants the TruthToo muchLoves too muchIs oversensitiveAnd hurts too much!Dangling fears,On crystal chandeliersPoetry criesIt’s melodious Tears…
Words inspire tender language
It’s the instrument of feeling,Words are in your heart concealing,Attitudes that are appealing,That fulfill you to the core.Language, verses, prose or other,We love to communicate,What if this made us all brothers,Hate we might eliminate.Language, do not use for evil,Use it to alleviate,Human suffering, love each other,Thru our words be kind to others,Helping hands and words…
It’s clean,
It gleamsWith an ethereal light,It singsA song that is sincereWith feeling’s might.What do I hear?What is this light?A poet dear,Just wroteHis sweet, ‘goodnight’.
The sticks of politics are long,
No wonder Pinocchio’s nose,Is present at every Meeting.
I love the Words,
Like a caressing melody,For I can hear their symphony,A quick rhyme here,A sonic flare,And then there’s lightning,Everywhere.My beating heart,Begins to dance,I write as if,I’m in a trance,I see the World,Now, at one glance,And feel the joy,Of true Romance.Mysterious words,That talk to me,And make me feel,Such Ecstasy,You are my World,My fantasy,The promised land,Of Poetry.
A thought, a feel
An artistic vision,Appears,SpontaneousAnd so dearWithout evenKnowing,What conditionsSynapse,What impulsesConnect,Push, extractThe essential essence,That createsThe work of art.