What a World of peace and comfort,
We could then, together be.
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Greatness has no merit,
Hate, destruction, human blindness,We must learn to leave behind us.
In the Universal Immensity,
Man creates his own Adversity,But runs when it is near.
Poetry,
You feel, you write it,All, no partsNothing ever stays inside,A poem is a one way ride,With truth and beauty,At its side.
Poets feel things,
And know thingsThat others don’t,Poetry is not a mockeryOf Time,Nor does it belongIn the PastPoetry is always,A Present fightAnd a Revolution,Against evil,And unfair abuse,It isFor peace and truthThat poets write.
So alone!
Always,Dreaming of love,Which she hadNever, ever known,A heart,So sensitiveSo sweet,And yet!Had never madeAnother,For it beat.Like a childWithout a home,Her lifeGathered,The painful remnantsOf an empty,StormLove never grown,A wasted life,That never knew,The joys of love,And so can,Irreparably,Be torn.She never knew,Why,Day by dayThat feeling grewAs skies turnedGray…And years died, tooAs nothingMoved,The earth was parched,Her lips were still,Her Body,Claimed,By…
What a poem can do!
Too far reaching for words,Tumultuous feelings created,Remaining,Ever felt, ever heard.