To tarnish them with mud and hate,
Or use them as a crutch.
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To be a Poet
Gales of emotion,And then you blow it!And people know it.Sensitive to almostEverything,When you’re going to cave,You know it,Exaggerating everything,Thru the colors of feelings,You want to touch Ecstasy,Thru worded rainbows of Fantasy,And you show it,And people know it.Yes, believe it or not,It’s hard,To be a poet.< br>To be a Poet.
Peace,
We create our ownInner and external Wars!That destroy everythingWe once so carefully builtAnd natural habitats, too!Failed Monsters that comethFrom the Sea,Why must you manipulateEverything you touch and see?Plot against Life itselfBe a continual destructiveMenace,Kill what you have plantedBe too blind to seeThat you kill everythingAround you,Including yourself,By not using, love’s key.
Oh,
To have starred in playsAnd lead one hundred lives,Spending my time,Upon the stageOr on a cinema plateau,Just not to be alwaysAll the same,SubmergedIn gray routine.I wanted the thrillThe adventure of beingSomeone else,Widening my feelingsGiving life more sense,And making the audiencePalpitate, liveIn other worldsBeyondJust plain NonsenseAnd finger twirls.One hundred thrilling livesTo liveThen shed them, one by…
Originality,
Part of a Poet’s heart.
People of faith,
Goodness and loveFor their nation.Home is a placeWhere liberty’s grace,Blesses without subjugation.Oh to be freeLive in true harmonyBuilding paths,For future generationsPlease let us be,An example to see,Of Liberty’s TreeThat should shade and protectAll people, of all other Nations.
In Poetry or Prose,
That man will ever know,The happiness that’s blessed,Life’s river’s inner flow.