It doesn’t take much to write a poem

Sadness goes byAs stars that have died,And nothing reallyChanges,But it does get worse,This kind of cryTo no one,EverDid any good,Or satisfy.But the days go byCenturies and millennia too,Injustices and tears accumulate,Nothing we’re told is trueAs satanical powers irrigateThe barren land of the poor,Saying they are a ‘liberal’ tourThat wants to extinguish,Tyrannical power,When none of it…

All those you comeInto contact with,But hardly even knowWill never reallyKnow,Shadowy presenceVirtual figuresLonely heartsFriend or Foe?Dream or existence?No one will ever know,Who, What or WhenNot even the machine,Thru which,All phantoms come and go.

The poet feelsA melody,The music that is in the air,That must become poetry fair.The Dreamer’s song,Near by the sea,Blue sailing movement,Sets it free,A feeling that you don’t forget,Like young first love, you don’t regretThe poet lives only for that,It’s in the blood yet so abstract.A poem is a poet’s song,Fighting for beauty,Right not wrong,All love…

for Nothing,So many speciesAnd flowers and trees.When just by breathing,Our carbon footprints,Diminish,The once, everlasting,Ocean breeze.

Of love and hate,Of humanity and cruelty,Almost impossible to rateTo fathom, to get straight.Lost in our own insanity,Laced with all our vanity,How quickly we decapitate,Sanity,Burn Love at the stake,And make present,All, that in Us is fake.Sooner or later,More pain than glory,Humans cultivate,This is no Story,Man is his own destructive forceWhile Love trembles in a cornerAnd…

Feel,Within the heart,The dearest warmthThat ever was,Transporting us,From emptiness,To everlastingHappiness,Heavenly blessed.