Now I feel cold,
My nest egg has dwindled,
That’s for not keeping,
More eggs in my basket,
Instead making omelets,
Bad and bold.
A la swindle.
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It All boils down to this,
Personal interest,Wouldn’t you know,Nobody does anything for‘The Common Good’We’ll be much happier,Once this is understood,And we are able to face,This Universal Truth.
Who invented Poetry?
In order to honor themAnd say, ‘I love it, so! ‘Who invented love?I think that now I knowThose who wrote, Poetry,So happiness would flow.
Explain this everlasting, longing to me,
The tears that come without my askingThe grinding and persistent strain,The emptiness that totally remains,The force that cruelly took you from me,But never asked,Why I keep crying in the rain.
It’s over,
I no longer seek answers,Only Peace.My fatigue is great,As if I were a fireplaceWhere all of life’s logs have been burnt,One by one,Seeking the fire of knowledge,And still,I know nothing,From whence I come?To where I shall go?However, the Search is overNow, I must rest my weary self,My tired stepsAnd give up,Trying to find love,In Love…
Deeply, artistical
Living passionsAre the Arts,A fluidity not rationedInstantly,Sets them apart.Life’s adventureAlways differentAs an ever burning hearth,Love, the feeling that inspiresAs the Artist’s inner firesBecome mirrors of his art.
In the night,
I admire you,I swim in your words,I fly with your words,Like a silver sparrow,Wounded by a golden arrow,I dare not approach the Sun,For fear of being burned.It’s alright,Your light is bright enough,To excite all my tomorrows,Even though, we’ve never met,I’m still,Lovingly yours, tonight,And every night that follows.