If not for Poetry

Could youUnderstandThe way,Love is to feel?I wish I could,Express, the thrillThat love can giveWhen real.Some think thatLove,Is madeOf angel sighs and wings,So difficult to envisionOr to explain,So therefore we mustDream and hope,That what we feelIs real,And if it isJust bless the blissThat’s felt,So deep, within,For heaven youShall hold and win!

Yet flawed,Life moves in certain paths,Time aides in the MathWhen nothing found,Nothing done, nothing hadWhat a waste of life’sShort time,Can you reimburse that?Sorry, no refillsTake advantage of opportunitiesIf they come,There are no second chances,Make the good ones last.

PencilThat’s how I write,In the solitudeOf day and nightIn the silence,Of my tearsAnd the memoriesOf thoseThat have takenFlight,I writeNot to cave in,Not to give upBecause,I must still tryTo make,Whatever I canRight!In honor of TruthIn honor of Justice,I fightI write!

Loneliness does not care,If you move or if you stare.Solitude’s story,More pain than glory.

Believe it or not,The Rain flows thru my fingers,Producing pain.All my life,Things have been the same,Illusions that fly,Never reaching the sky.In the rain, I cry,Asking why?Ideals,Were a steal,When the Horse of Troy appeared,When’La Grande Illusion’ andJean Renoir gave it a try,On the World War sky,When the gods still magnified,Their power over mankind,And said things would…

If found,Never let it go,The only true pathTo happiness,That Anyone,Shall ever know.