I feel

Why we are here,Nor where we go?We seem to liveWithin a mist a Mist,With open arms,But then clenched fistLife’s full of quantic mysteries,Some Logic others, LunacyAnd yet we thinkWe’re really free!

Like roses have feelings,And poems have wings.Not really that silly,Roses may hurt,When clipped from their bushAnd delicate poems,May enter your heartThen fly away with it,Never to part.Not easy being a poet,Juggling words around,Giving verse musical meaning.Only, when right words are found.

Allowing you to dream awake,Against injustice scream.The World has alwaysBeen a place,Impossible to redeem,So I prefer,My private spaceWhere things are so much betterThan they seem.Where words and minds are freeTo imagine life not as it is,But as we think,That life should be,With kindness, love and poetry.

How does it look?What is it like?Mysterious atmosphere,An invisible feeling,That softly guides you,To a peaceful, unending light.

The impossible,Something ineffableThat won’t die.Ah,But it would takeThe knowledge,The feelAll the truthAll theLove and Light,In the UniverseTo go that high.

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!

Poetry can recreateAnd transmit feelings.Something,That nothing elseCan do,A veritable and sincere,ConspiracyBetween the poet and you.

Always,Dreaming of love,Which she hadNever, ever known,A heart,So sensitiveSo sweet,And yet!Had never madeAnother,For it beat.Like a childWithout a home,Her lifeGathered,The painful remnantsOf an empty,StormLove never grown,A wasted life,That never knew,The joys of love,And so can,Irreparably,Be torn.She never knew,Why,Day by dayThat feeling grewAs skies turnedGray…And years died, tooAs nothingMoved,The earth was parched,Her lips were still,Her Body,Claimed,By…

History proves,We’re quite a sore, impoverished sight,Where Logic long has taken flight.Right or Left,Religious or not,We all drink out,Of the same rotten Pot.

A sweeter Rose, that softly grows,Into Eternity.

Beauty seems to be a stranger,Held in valor, less and less.Makes us think and also wonder,What the future will uphold?If all Beauty does go under,Emptiness will then unfold,Fellings will forever shatter,In a World completely cold.

It can’t be bought,But Love and Compassion,Are a good start.

All for yourself,They are your pearl,Your handsome photograph,Your joy,The precious lightOf life itself.And if ever that true love,Is lost,Your existence fades awayAnd melts,You are only half alive,In a withering worldOf constant painWhere only tears will thrive.

Want to stay with you,If it has appealHas spoken to your heart,Keep it with you.A friend, a confidant,A friendly handA poem that at moments,May assist you,And at others,Who knows?May even cry,With you.

In minds and hearts,Hoping love,And fertile thinkingWill make us grow,Closer togetherCultivating,Love and feelings,Vocal languageOf the Arts.

Admire and loveThe Arts,The good drugsCan’t help,As poets, as artists,Creating, Writing,Throughout their days,Because they carryThis lifelong blessingIn their blood.Creation not destructionIs their souls’Beautiful, creativeAddiction,That enriches all livesWe have to beEternally grateful,For that.

It steals our lives,Takes our strength away,Makes us Hurry everyday,And like a bad Landlord,Takes our Keyes away,Making sure we don’t overstay.

In poetry,They’ve always shoneLike blooming StarsSo far away,At which the SkyLooks in dismay.