That still exist,
They’re soft and kind
And bear in mind,
Those that have suffered,
And that life,
Has left behind
And Those,
That for lost Love,
Have pined.
I wish the world
Were made of such,
Poet-Idealists
That live above,
The petty line,
And still can find
A star to kiss
And a verse,
For all
To leave, behind.
Death of the spirit,Death of the soul,When you cannot,Love at all?
Human natureNever pretendingTo have exhausted,The possibilitiesOf understandingOur dementia,I am ready to give up.Unjustified hate,Cruelty, murderIs something so, irrationalSo inhumanly insaneI can no longer,Try to understandNor this injustice,Pretend to silently take.Since man saw manCain saw Abel,In the promised landSince immemorial, timesWe’ve been killing,Slandering, each otherTo steal things fromOne anotherPossessions, lifeHow can we trust thoseThat speak hateThat…
Possible,What never could beIn time passed,What never can returnThe impossible wishOf those,That in their past lifeCould not their own pages,Write or even turnNor even behind them,Their bridges burn.
Flowers, gifts that arePure beauty of flowing grace.
Holds you, like in a trance,And All, the held back feelingsCome tumbling out, All at OnceAnd you can’t stop the avalanche,The waterfall of sentiments and words,That so emotionally disturb and chant.And behold! the poem is born and lives,Reflecting all the mystery and force,That Life to Poetry gives.
From our deepest within,From love and not sinFrom compassion for all,As good feelings, they win.To create, to write,Whatever art you may practice,Feeling is key,No feeling, no art work,That can communicate,The artist’s sincerity.
