As the French say
‘C’est pas facile’
It is not easy
It takes an effort
Of mind and spirit
To follow,
Not having,
A perspective
That’s really, narrow
Open mind, open clouds
Allowed to travel,
Open routes
Discover, marvels
That you feel
More than you see
And that’s just part
Of the mysterious magic
Of Poetry!
The Soul of all language,A Birth newly found,A Sea of expression,Unleashed, without bound.Within Human madness,A Poet is Love,That mourns now and always,The death of a Dove.
Available!Time,Which I mentalizeAnd squander,Daydream,Write poetry,In wonderRemembering,Old films thatStill hold meHostage,As priorities,Old thunderThat loiters,In the slumberOf my dreams,The gnawing onesThe most beloved ones,Those that I knowWon’t come trueBut aide imagination,And sometimesSomehow areThe animationThat helps us cope,And see Life thru.
It speaks,As minds and hearts it sways,To it’s own mysterious place,With its own perpetual music,Full of beauty, full of grace.
Said the Artist,To his Art.And from then on,They were neverFound apart.
Not at all right,All of them,Chaotic bummers,Don’t even know,How to govern!The ones that were,The ones that are,21st Century plight,Nothing feels right!Confused, hiddenBy computerized trees,Now, the forest,Nobody sees,So much information,So much untrue,‘Sanctified’ by abuseNobody, even seemsTo care about the truth,Cynicisms, absolute tooth,Muddled in darkness,Transparency, none,They haven’t even left us,A tenuous ray of sun.
So much more to discoverWhole Worlds to uncover,Sustaining richness for Life’s cup.
