Like an ocean in commotion,
Without Love the human dies,
For love is beauty in motion,
And the sharing of deep ties,
Deeper than the deepest ocean,
Limitless as are the skies.
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Poetry’s good
Especially,To have a good cry,Invisible tearsThat don’t physicallyAppear,But can be readAnd feltIn black and white.
Feeling,
Imaginary FlairsThat go,Everywhere
And the pain,
That in vain,Floods my heart,And the tears of the Past,Guide my ship and my mast,And the mystery Train,That has come here at last,It will take me away,To the Sea of my past,Where the Seagulls display,Their eternal ballet,As they screamingly say,Love and dreams do not last.
Why do we write Poetry?
Is it to stamp our wee voice,In the Universe of our choice?Or to live in a make believe world?Where nothing is real, only absurd.
Love,
Don’t ask me why,I don’t know,I can’t tell,Why it’s an inexplicable feeling,A palpitating Star,That All should have,Before they die.
Where does Time start?
Why do we need it?Is it because,We mostly fear,Being alone in Space?Tic-Tock goes the clock,As Life tics away,If only Time,Would permanently stay away,Forever young, never old,Then Time would just be,A Fairy Tale never told.