You might assume,
That they always need a crutch,
Cannot be trusted very much,
Need to carefully guard their lunch,
Always ready, to kangaroo punch
And have sawdust,
Instead of a brain.
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So sweet, the music
No normal soul,Its melodiesCan easily resist,And floutingDancing,With its wordsSometimes,We even canSo slightly,FeelA little tremorThat momentarily,The lonelinessFrom hearts,Makes disappear.
No, yes, Yes, no,
I don’t know,Take a guess,Back and forth,Round and round,Let me go,No, no, no,Love me more!Love’s a game,Dangerous,Finding pain,As it goes,Back and forth,No one knows,Where its Arrow,Finally falls.
Poets,
To calm, perhapsOur innate fright,To sooth, perhapsThe lonelinessThat all may haveIn life’s distress,To face, perhapsThe silent nightKnowing that thingsAre quite not rightWe writeTo bring about exchangeA better World,With cores of light,With higher thoughtsAnd better sightPromises heard,Love’s sweet delight,To give great part of oneAnd then,Ready to start,To write again.
Sanity,
Distinguish betweenThe sane and the insane,Should we ever relinquishOur dreams,To make everythingThe same,A life without illusion,Cannot entertain hope,In the desert of delusionDies the spirit,Cannot copeWith the crushingDeadly pressure,Of a World where fantasyIs no longer any pleasureAs imagination diesAnd poetry, can no longer beFor evil men have hung herFrom materialism’s Tree.
Inseparable, like one,
Sincerity, not spun,You are the life,That flows thru my veins,Poetry is Love,Love is Poetry,Stemming from Life’s,Most inspired tree.
Like Gold,
Some times it tires,Diminishes its fires,Burns slower with desire,But never disappears,Greatest blessing,Wipes away the sadnessIn our tears.