Almost never
Sleep!
They stay up
Shuffling words,
Writing dreams
Instead of counting
Sheep.
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You write,
For life?Probably,But in a much moreHumane wayThan the branding iron’sScarlet letter.Poetry in the poetLeaves its markNot escapable,Only, writableOften you may writeA poem, simply by feelHaving joyous, appealFulfilling you,Mellifluously, entirelyFascinating, words appearLike magic doves,Flying from magician’s hatYour poem sings melodically,Euphorically,Maybe claiming other soulsThat want to see, to feelWhat you see and giveAs the doors to dreams…
They say what’s convenient,
They create illusions,Sandwiched in with lies,But it’s always the people,That pay and sacrifice,In bitter conclusion,They aren’t very nice!
What would we be without Art?
Fall apart,Searching for a new start,Our sensitivity would be missing,How would we be able to cope?With the pain of being artistically empty,Almost living without any hope,Only Art makes us live fully,Only Art.From the Caves to Space,Art is our gifted grace,Shared, democratically,The best side of the human race.
This I must say,
But most PoetsAre very smartAnd that’s thatInsteadOf their head,They think withTheir heart.
I love the melody,
The rhyme, rhythm and love,That few have too much of,The sweet and vivid sound,Of meanings that abound,Of Worlds that don’t exist,Of dreams that do persist.Come with me we shall fly,To worlds of fantasy,Where no one can deny,That life can be true bliss,If Poetry exists.
Feelings, Musicality,
Strings of Heart,Just come apart,The Happiness it brings!