Poetry.
Poems, are
Curative medicine
For the soul,
No matter,
How alone
Or sad
The patient
Be.
And believe it
Or not,
It’s free!
So,
In Life,
Remember,
All are welcome
To their,
Democratic dose
Of poetry.
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The mind is never quiet
It’s dreams thatThen take over,Our secrets,There to keep.
‘You can’t buy love, ‘
Viva!Long LiveThe old cliché.Nor by force, inciteTrue friendshipAnd loyalty,A truth for thoseWho Nothing, haveAs well as for,Wealthy, Royalty!
Poetry,
With real signs of contentment,And sacrifice,As a Nun takes her Vows,As a Mother cares for her child,As the World turns around and changes,We, Poets,Have nothing to hide.Our love for you,Is pure and complete,You are the love of our livesWhat makes us human and keeps us alive.
As our hands become entangled,
I conclude with all this living,That most loves are quite unfair.Lovers seeking in the moonlight,Paths, perhaps they’ll never find,Hearts that wither like a flower,Memories, that stay behind.
Do kindness and consideration
It seems that only,Poets and Fools,Are still able to feelAnd behave that way.Pity!How painfulAnd sad,This is to say!
Some of us,
To find answers,While we churn alternatives,But we never really learn,All is so shrouded by mystery,Or hidden, or turned,So that the point from where we got started,Is the point to where, we will undoubtedly return.