We’ve achieved so much, in such short time,
Are we now ready to graze?
Me thinks, things have gone much too far,
We’re Sinners without, Grace,
Willfully provoking,
Our demise and our disgrace!
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You’re my Love,
But I’m strange too.Two Strangers,Loving from afar,Dreaming Of,A reachless, Star.
Poets feel and understand so many Things,
Delving into the Sands of Past, Present and Future,Using their hourglass of words,From whither comes their stunning light.That is why, for me a Poet’s words are sacred,Better than those of a priest or any religion,For a Poet, even if he should try,Cannot hide behind a lie,Writing Feelings, tells you why.
We,
Try to analyze everythingAnd finally, we walk awayNot knowing anything,Theory and MysteryRemain,Our only tree of knowledge.
Miss Poetry,
Not temporary idolatry,For those who haveYour marvels sung.Eternal fountain of youth,Of Beauty, Love and TruthWhose endless gloryAnd unfinished story,Is not yet done,As you, Miss PoetryLovingly, rival,The morning Sun.
All Morality,
A Country sadly carries on,The Salamanders up on top,Still living off,Cream of the Crop,With Law and Order,Mostly gone,Brink of disaster,Coming on,We fidget, falter,Try to save,A dying Nation,Once, Great, FreeNow on the road,To Catastrophe.
Two friends with a pen,
In search of some paper to write,But they found the ‘ damsel’,Next to their own inkwell,Then said ‘All’s not well’Stupidity IS on the rise.