Poems singe the Wind,
Their message is immediate,
The poet’s heart, alleviate
Sincere and never deviate,
Trying not to sin,
A pleasurable win, win.
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Dreamers can’t be Schemers,
To tarnish them with mud and hate,Or use them as a crutch.
My poetry is made of tears,
They accentuate my lonely fears,But calm, me when you are not near.My tears are mine and mine alone,They’re sadness that no one can own,They’re part of loving you so much,A Love that only tears can touche.
The things they do,
Will make you happyLove goes so far,Beloved, dogs, and cats and petsBetter than all Casino bets.
You can’t fake it,
Poetry has a lifeAll of its own,And it’s not,Talking on an IPhoneBut one thingIs for sure,When it invades youSoftly caresses,And cradles your heartHitting a perfect tone,Never again, will youEver feel alone.
The joy of being with you,
No words or useless chatter,Are needed to feel this:A flight towards all Eternity,A breath of perfumed bliss,An amorous wind, embracing,The fulfillment of a kiss.All This you are to me and More,My life, my heart, my very soul,Before we were together,Did I exist at All?
What is Love?
Over and over again,Undying till,The last breath,If ever you are,So blessed,That is what Love Is.