But I say
They are wrong
Love can gift you
A new life
Just choose
A right kind of person
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The ring I have
To dispel neither the spell of a wicked ghost or witchNor to attract the soul of a damselThe bell is not for chimes eitherTo ring outTo ring inThe old, the new or the clichésIn my heart that I ring for another reasonThe purposes are gyrating and stiringInside and at the bottomTo awakenTo arouseThe giant in…
If I look up and walk I get stumble
So I look down always at my feetAnd continue the act of goingWhile I think how lucky and fortunate I amTo have a life that is better than many of menWithin my heart I express gratitudeAnd keep continue the thinkingOn love, life and about people, downtrodden;There must be a cause behind everythingRight wrong, good bad,…
Yesterday was surely tomorrow one day
One day hopefully tomorrow will be todayThis sorrow and pain will be killedand pushed into the past tomorrowthis defeat and despair will vanishedinto the pasthopefully one day the better futurewill be my present
Though I do not like
But I like to read booksSo when I was once reading‘’Some one is waiting for me’’Surprisingly I was delighted too muchBut it turned immediatelyOut to be not trueAs I was held the bookUp side downActually it was me whoWas waiting for some oneAnd I feared that the personwould never turned upand very soonAnd it became…
I would not say
on the way to realize itI was bornif they did not meet each otherwhere I would have been?would I have beenin the nether landand listening the wonderful storiesfrom the croon Halloween?if this Halloween ever would have any dreamwhere would have been her children?they must come to this worldand we would have told themstories, wonderful!
Tears of the poor are
Shedding of bloodRich man’s headache,Poor men’s justice.Water is too coolTo bring forth your anguish,Fire is the only solutionDrink fire to end your injustice.Silence is lover’s desirePoor men’s unbearable pain.Din is the only right choiceTo put forth your demand.Dew is the conspiracyHatched between the rich and the king,Morning is the 1st stepOf that poor men’s sufferings.
Beguiled,
Spellbound,
But in a tragic way,
Denied, deprived,
A feeling wild,
Hurts more each passing day,
A feeling so apart,
The thorns that roses,
Hide so well,
May all be there,
To start,
A lifelong voyage,
Into hell,
From where we don’t depart.
Love hurts,
And tears your life apart,
When met with true disdain,
The pain that fills your empty heart,
Can make you go insane.
Love’s pain,
A hurt, with so much strain,
You don’t know where to turn,
As Life recedes,
And Fountains bleed,
A point of no return.
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Poets love to summarize,
In a few lines, deep and bold,Many magic truths are told.
We talk to each other in verse
A privilegeA sweet contentMinds and hearts do touchIn such benevolence,Strange way to communicateI know,But what a joy it is!You’ll never know.
Turbulence,
With painful, ragged sails,Looking for a port to rest,To escape the Wind’s cold wails.Up and down and ocean bound,We’re thrown from here to there,Happiness sometimes exists,The problem is just Where?
As long as there is Poetry
Don’t you know?That is precisely,What our Souls are made of.
How Emotionally exhausting,
Unforgettable charactersMust be,Even for the born actorThat has a certain factorThat facilitates,Becoming, someone else.These formidable artistsDo carry us away,And with our gratitudeRecognition and admirationWe should honor themAnd pay,And as an example say‘I saw, Bette Davis,Today, in an old film,But it still,Made my day! ‘Or, I saw Sara Paulson,In Neflix, ‘Ratched’Bloody, as it is,Her interpretationLike those…
Poets are dreamers
Living in a WorldOf worded fantasy,Where beauty and LoveAre theirs, for free.
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And in outer Space,
All over your body and your face,
Daggers of disillusionment,
Caused by a lost embrace.
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Prose is like ‘Eau de Cologne’,
Poetry, is essence, Perfume,Concentrated, delightThat tries to reach the rootsAnd know, all that there is to knowAbout the Tree of Life.
The Mystery of Poetry,
To quit the World,Such as it is,In Words of Mist, that do persistTo hide the pain of everyday,And say that Life,Is not in vain,That let you dream,Even on land,That oceans really are at hand,That make you think that Love is True,And that the Sea is really blue.
One of the secrets
Opening views ofThings that justFor the momentOnly on paper exist,And then, being ableTo transmit,The essence, colorFeel and emotion,Without a cameraPainting or myth,Just letting,Your heart drift,Carried away,By some magicalLoving, devotion.
There are some that can create,
That thru mental, soulful motions,In the heart do undulate,And these soft, poetic words,Can propel to outer space,Tinged with such vivid emotions,Enthralling, the human race.These Magicians are not always,A reflection of their words,Some of them do hide malicious,Bad intentions, black sheep herds.Just because you are a Poet,Does not make you be, a Saint,So pay very close…
There are Times,
Do flow,Sometimes stronger,Sometimes slow,Sometimes passionately so,Sometimes gone, so long agoExplanation?We don’t know.Love,Deep emotion, so insane,Sometimes happy,Sometimes pain,Sometimes all of it in vain,Sometimes with a sudden rain,Love can bloom, be born again,Then all other disappears,Life regains it’s Mystery,And Becomes, just You and Me.
The whole world,
If it speaks to you,With words that,Conquer, heartsWith loving imagesAnd feelings,That before,Just weren’t there.
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Not always receiving,
But without it,
Living is not living,
For loving is giving,
The most precious gift,
That you can give,
And the most fulfilling.
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The Importance of Nothing,
Yet, amazingly often,The Truth remains veiled.
Because you write like no one else,
A Chant that’s Universally born,And becomes Magic in word’s form,You’re poetry is Light to me,It takes me to a special place,Where sweetness and beauty preform,A Symphony of Life, new born.
Anytime or place
Full of grace,Inundates, the space,Of Love’s tender,Projection.Affection,Sets a paceOf delicate embraceThat may secretly advocateLove’s coming,Inspiration,Sweet temptation.
Money is not honey,
What can you do with money?Buy things, put up the heat?I like the liberation,That money can achieve,But I’d rather write a poem,As a memory to leave.
She loved him for his mind,
So brilliantly knowledgeable, without hesitation,But she could not love him for his heartEven if she had wanted to with all her heartFor none he had,No kindly feelings,No compassion, no sensationsNo tenderness, no passionCold like Ice, Winter’s ration.Sadly,She could not love, a heart of stone,So all her life, she was alone.
You try to fix
It doesn’t work.You try to find, the TruthYou’re just a jerk,You try to understandWhat’s going on,No magic wandYou try to live in Peace,Another Planet, please.