In ‘Make Believe’
That can’t contend
With shattered dreams
As harsh reality,
Intercepts
The empty avenue
Of dreams.
It seems,
That, nothing
That we really want
Will then take place
Or just by chance,
Even arrive,
For Life’s hard drive
Cannot bring back
Naïve illusions
That in reality
Never even played
A relevant part,
In Life’s,
Unstable stage.
Poetry,The most creativeLanguageOf them all,BeautifulImaginativeAnd tallReaching for the StarsPicking us upWhen we fall.
No, it isn’t very easy,Melancholic rivers, flow.It’s an anguish that’s persistent,Something I cannot control,It’s an emptiness, insistent,That does not get filled at all.I have looked over the Mountain,And have sailed the Human Seas,Hoping someday I would find you,And you’d be all Love could be.I have looked into the fountains,Of the Arts, centuries old,And still empty,…
And hopelessly we descend,Into the private hell,Of our own reality.We are as we are,We are who we are,In our diminished capacity,To understand the private hell,We ourselves have made so well!
A land where no secrets are kept,Where lover’s learn to have respect,Because Love’s better than all hate,I want to love you now, not wait,For Life so often castigates,And cuts the cords, and separates.And then for Love it is too late.
To discuss, Nothing!Today,InsignificanceAnd StupiditySeem to beAll the rage.No excellence,No prideNothing goodSeems to matterNo beauty,No good feelingsAs guide,Greatest achievementsAre:To be tattooedFrom head to footLike savages,Not to beProud of your CountryNot to respect your flagAnd not to even knowOr care,Who you really are!Backwards do we slideBeware!Nothing good is waitingThere!
Or have no proof ofHow to handle,Not only your fingersMay get singedBut your ownIntegrity and reliabilityMay be questioned,Melted or burnt awayLike a lying, candle.
