And there,
Some peace and satisfaction,
Find.
The atrocities committed,
And yet to come,
Make it difficult
Not to become numb.
But Poetry saves,
Brings Beauty back,
Gives you hope,
When all is black
Poetry saves,
And so does Art,
They are the waves,
That heal, the heart.
Now I must content myselfWith virtual love,Difficult to doWhen all you’ve ever lived forIs, ‘I love you’.Difficult to face each morning,Without a vital yearningDifficult to faceThat song, without music,When you’re alone.
A whole garden of prose.
The ever, salty widespread breeze,That white cloud sails, profit with ease.The memory of a life gone by,The waves that seem to say goodbye,My ship has sailed,Will not return,The lonely vastness of the SeaSeems now to cry, softly with me.
That will make you cry, find solace or contentment
It just happens,Without frontiers.But many are the loveless,Held back tears,If love doesn’t happen,Life disappears.
Of the beholder,But in those, bolderThat see in Her,Inspired clarity,Spirituality’sUndying Love.
