I can’t forget you,

Because Love makes you or breaks you,Because Life is nothing, without Love.

How to exploitEveryone, in the land.

Enjoy the good moments,Spread of the Rose,Its incomparable, natural perfume,But never the pain of its thorn.

Eyes that meet,Two hands that touch,And so defeatLoneliness,As Life palpitatesTenderness,Love does give,So very much!

Nor man, nor beast, nor art,Is our frail humanity,Finally falling apart?Or did ugliness always reign?Among the slightly civilized,Now turned totally insane.

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.

Hysteria,A madness that surrounds,The 21st Century,With its Robotic Hounds.Machines that are born and prosper,Soon they’ll be all aroundWill they be our MastersAnd us, their Playground?

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.

Things we know Nothing aboutThat even if we write them,Love them or forget themThey will never be oursFor we live inIgnorant towersWith no flowersOf Truth.

I navigate with them,Thru protected valleys of delight,Never disturbed by the darkness of Night,So intense is your Light.Like nobody else, you fill,The imponderable dream of my dreams,The One I cannot easily decipher,Because your Mystery is much deeper than it seems.

So,If Hope still springs in your heartsBeware,Of repetitive disastersPromoted by sly selfish MastersThat falsely say everyday,That They,Have only your interests at heart.

So many Poets!So many claims!To practice,MagicWe hopeNot in vain.