Even what is hidden brew,
In human hieroglyphics,
Or in solidified,
Archeological fossils,
From the Poet, cannot hide,
Not even Love,
World-Wide.
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Do good,
With love and promiseDo evil,And your own demonsWill accompany youTo the fires of HellToday, like it or notThat’s all I’ve gotTo sell.
I’ll write up a storm for you,
For with you, the World is ours,And with your love, my dearest love,I know we cannot fail.
Poets have the right
For a better World,More just, More cheerLess fear,But the problem isThe present PowerThat exists,Would never, everPermit Poets to runThis corrupted Sphere,That they will, eventuallyChoke,And put completely,Out of Gear.
You’re my dream and my dreamer,
To have captured the spirit,of a dream once dreamt by me,I have always understood you,More than you could ever tell,I have loved you much in secret,But I’ve loved you long and well.Love begins with a small sparkle,Other times when lightening strikes,I will love you so forever,All my days and all my nights.
Maybe
We can be what we want to be,But here and now,Dreams are made of sadness,And impossibilities,What should be, cannot be,Like this love,Between you and me.
Dreams are made of imaginary foam,
Where are they now?It seems to be all over,Looking for that four leaf clover,Over…illusions not knocking at my door,Reality keeps saying, nevermore,I know…When certain loves are gone,It’s hard to feel the morning Sun.