It opens portals, yet unknown,
Of happiness untold.
Love makes you whole again,
It gives you winged waves,
That cross the sea,
Making you free,
And finally, essentially,
Love really, really saves.
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To see with the same eyes,
To love the same things,To fill the other’s soul,With tender, soft caress,With Happiness, you blessMakes Love,If not Heaven, not much less.
Poets don’t make good economists,
Numbers are not letters,That they understand,They may do better at politics,Because they are idealists,And Freedom is their stand.
Poets have a greener sense,
They can sense the Universe,And then explain it all
Poetry, look at me,
Was our love-life something wrong?To desire with such fire,All a poem can prolong.Life is nonsense without substance,If some good you can’t perform,I have loved you with my conscience,And the passion of a Storm.Poetry, beloved Fountain,Of my Life, you are my home,And my Country and my Mountain,And my ever reaching Dome,You’re the Ocean of my motion,Where…
In the land
Time does not pass byWe always feelThat dreams we steal,May soon be coming by.Reality is differentAll changes, nothing staysAnd in our human ignoranceWe realize not,That all our yesterdaysAre our todaysThat won’t come back.
Complicated.
Nerves, Bones, Blood,A soul we can’t seeBut are told that existsIn a fiery, turbulent flood.A desire to loveThat can hate in a twist,A complicated puzzle,Of good and bad,That you don’t want to meetIf not properly clad.