Abused the Human Race,
Unfortunately, too numerous to name
But the Face of Evil, just the same.
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At Sunset,
That turn, with their unrelenting fears,Everything seems less clear,We are a bitter mystery,Nothing to write home about,Or cheer.
You sculpt ideas
Sometimes from thingsSo rarely heard,But poems born,All falsehood scorn,Because they’re fromYou’re spirit, torn.
So many dreams,
Wanting to be lived!To the utmost Romantic scenes,Life is a film,And I am the director of my will,And the Star of my dreams.
A touch of lace,
Youth,Illusions bloomAll is but grace,And yet, how soonLife’s flowerLoses colorLoses tune,As time consumesThe youthful daysOf no return.
Simply said, Deeply felt,
All the InnocentsThat so sadly lost their lives,On that fatal day,Fellow Americans and Others too,We shall always honor and remember,All of you.
The eye of the poet,
Things that areThings that will be.Moved by emotion,Love, Poetry,The poet looks,For essentiality,Nature, soul,Humanity.The essence of Life,Of feeling, of Love,The wonders we see,What we should be made of.The eye of the poet,Wants to see,Beyond the sky,Beyond the horizon,Beyond the sea,And understandsThat in Life’s Symphony,Its only LoveThat sets you free.