As a good and lovely poem,
When you finish reading,
Again you start breathing,
With Hope,
And are glad that some poet,
Decided to write what he wrote.
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What are great poems made of?
Belief in more than sorrow,Hope, seeds for a better tomorrow,More Love than hate,Inspiration that cannot wait,Dreams you cannot borrow,And the sweet, melodious chirping,Of a newborn, innocent sparrow.
Inspiring,
That still surrounds,In certain waysThe days of love and rosesThat must stay,For Love is but the flowOf Life, itself,The only true perfectionOf one’s self.
The mind is never quiet
It’s dreams thatThen take over,Our secrets,There to keep.
For a poet,
Is like a flowerThat he hopesTime will not devourBut will teach,That Truth and Beauty,Were its finest hourAlways within reach.
Today,
I have deeply looked,Into the face,Of my inner liberty,And found tranquility.The World may crash,Indeed it will,Nothing for me to do,For I’ll be happy,Even then,As long as I have you.
Poets are a strange ol’ bunch,
Words and feelings, intertwine,Making Some of them, divine.