Exasperated,
For not having enough,
Of those moments,
Elongated,
By wonderful stuff,
And creative brothers.
Fascinated,
By periods and people,
High up on the scale,
Those that ripple,
The exciting Sea of Life,
With their creativity,
Unfolding secrets,
Opening new paths,
The artistic mysteries,
That fascinate even more,
As you keep opening of Life,
The Secret Door,
The amazing creations,
Of which you never tier,
But want more and more.
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.
We like it,Or not,Certain Souls,They come together,And their Love is not,Whatever,It becomes a solid knot,It becomes your Life’s,Endeavor,That cannot be torn apart,That can Never be forgotten,And was there right from the start.
If ever,Not all we feel,Is ecstasy,Whenever,But if what’s writtenIs sincerely feltCommitted,We can rejoiceAnd bless, our choice,In between, aboveThe useless Noise,Well, fitted
Poetry isSo full of grace,It sooths the heart,With blessed words,Sometimes,The loveliest, ever heard.
Reading a poem, that tears you apart,Or listening to a political speech,That alternates rage, with a desire to teachThese lying politicians that all is not,With in their slimy reach.
Secrets nearSecrets farThe ‘why of whys’Of certain things,From mysterious fountain,Unknown, springsIf you and IWere meant to beDoes it really matter,Why that be?
