It’s like a painful moan,
For there is nothing worse,
It’s like a lonely curse,
That steals your life, your home,
When you are All Alone.
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‘My desire is
Noble desire, sentimentAnd that, you willYou have the talentThe know how,The feeling andAnd the good will,Talent like yoursIs not taughtOr boughtIt’s born within,So don’t worryThat perfect oneIs on the wayAnd you’ll feelAnd know it,When it will say,‘Don’t do anythingElse,Just, write me, today’
Yes, the road to Hell,
Lies from Truth, you cannot tell.
What is in a poem?
The Poet’s life, sweat and tears,Feelings grown thru many years,Dreams, Fantasies, Disappointments,That nobody wants, that nobody hears.
In Poetry,
More than logic,It’s how you dealWith Life’s call,Tragic or with Magic,That’s All.
The best thing about solitude,
And maybe some creation do,That keeps you from the brink.
The World is on the bend,
But lack of Liberty,Is always Tragedy.