No longer here,
Yet you’re all over,
You’ll always be,
The one I lost,
The dearest one,
I loved the most,
The one for whom,
I always carried,
That burning troche,
But never married.
I hurt all over,
Especially inside,
I’m really not good,
At saying goodbye.
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The dramatic side of human stupidity,
In order to intertwine,Incompetence with anonymity.
Lonely hearts cry,
To look up to.Without Love, they say,You wither away,Dancing each day,The depressing Ballet,Of ‘I miss you’,While Autumn Leaves sway,In the loneliest way,Dying away without youNever again, ever to say,In the bright light of day,‘I Love You’.
What’s in a poem,
Essentially Love,With feelings to spare,A love so deep,That it does then dare,Surround the World,With sweetest care.What’s in a poem?The poet’s soul,Imagination, encircles all,Musical tones,A waltz from the heart,Deepest feelings, that don’t depart.What’s in a poem?A micro-world,Of sounds and wonders,Of things unheard,Of thoughts that thunder,And fly like birds!Of feelings turned,Into precious words.EpilogueA poem must never be…
Like a miracle,
Poetry can recreateAnd transmit feelings.Something,That nothing elseCan do,A veritable and sincere,ConspiracyBetween the poet and you.
Even though, I have solved nothing,
Or at least think, I have.I cannot take anything for granted,In this world there isSo much deceit and bluff.More Time passes,More I realize,That you are your own world,Looking in from the outside.As a great Spanish philosopher once said:‘I am I, and my circumstances’We are All so Alone,In this tearful valley called Life.
What doesn’t a Rose touch?
It looks to the Sky for the truth,It perfumes the whole World with its scent,And to Love and Beauty, its image is lent.