My God, how did we ever
Come about?
Must have been,
A tragic mistake
Of that I have no doubt.
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What’s behind the made-up face?
Behind the makeup mask,There’s unknown spaceWho can predict the ride?We all do wear some makeup,Real or false or shrewdTrying to turn our vital tide,And language is the perfect, PlayAll made up, on our side.
It’s all in how you say it,
Or touch not,The poems you remember,And those that you forgot.
Love should be,
All the rest,Is useless fire.
Don’t have to bother
The stepladderOf dreams,TonightThey are all asleepOr dead, by now.Dreams, I meanFor I have seen,Lived the ScreamLooked too muchInto the streamOf ignorance,Torture and painOf coward’sAssassinationOf TruthOf torture and human painTo still be able to have faithQuietly sleep.And drain the moral stain,Of History’s bloody refrain!The chocking liesAnd inhumanityThat never Stops!That never Sleeps!
The satisfaction
In writing,A poemCannot be acquiredOr merely desired,It surpassesAll typesOf Emotions,It’s likeBeing born again,From and withLove,Full of devotion.