Just hope, sometimes
I get it right.
The pleasure
That good writing gives,
Still holds of love
The true delight.
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You want to express,
So much can’t be explained,The origins, depths of reason,Happenings, FeelingsSo many of Life’s strange dealingsWe live in a state of perpetual frightTrying to get things rightAnd not succeeding.Writing, reading, thinkingLike imprisoned hamstersGoing round and roundOn that, cruelest of wheelsIn most miserable cage,Going no where,Leading sometimes toDeep inner rage,But never opening, totallyLife’s great Mysteries,And fathomless, secrets.Are…
Oh, to be a poet,
Of what is wrong,With everything,And what should really rhyme,Trying to make sense of things,Trying to explore,The imprisoned fossils,Found in amber rings,That spell Forevermore.
Poets are such Fools,
They can change everything,By making,Love and understanding,Universal Rules.
Sometimes,
Comes a light,That helps you,Find,Some joy, some truthThat’s why,We must always thinkOf a lot of thingsAnd try to resolveIf we can,The emptiness that LifeSo often brings.Please, answer the doorWhen curiosity rings.
You thrill me,
Beyond any words,Who are you?The Artist,With talentThat burns.
There is nothing fair,
And controls everything,Controls your Life,Like Feudal Lords did,In Communism,The people do the serf’s bid.Beware!History repeats itself,In a most uncomfortable way,Stealing liberty, chocking initiative,Drowning social and individual rights,Yesterday, tomorrow and today.