So, kept inside
Till it chocked me,
But one day,
Came out for air,
Thin, scared and lonely
Love,
Too late for prayers.
Too late for tears
To late, to even care.
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For everything we have we should be grateful!
Filled with palpitating life-giving Light,But We, we don’t see the Light,We destroy the gifts, the gods gave us,Way back when, we were but a cell,With no destructive might,In the Night of Time.
Would there be
Left,If it were not,For Poets?The immense richnessOf sentimentIs in their heartsTheir words,You have toKnow it,AndCelebrate!The Human GloryOf All Poets!
Sometimes,
I want to cry,And the more I writeThe more difficultIt is for meTo keep my tired eyesDry.Why do we cry?I ask myself,Does it makeA differenceTo express,Tristess,That state ofMelancholy sadness,With tears?Maybe so,For Tears areOur Souls’ Rivers,That overflow.
A ‘Silly Poem’ is good sometimes,
And clarifies rhymes.So here goes:I am a complete contradiction,A bit of realism but a lot of fiction,I do not live in a World I like,Nor do I want All, to be alike,I’d rather write than have a fight,Like to send many, to fly a kite,I sleep by day and live by night,But sometimes I tire…
I don’t know which is harder,
Or trying to fill my larder.I follow the Economy,And play the Market, carefully,But there I have no real control,And I may very well lose it All!
Sometimes,
Holds you, like in a trance,And All, the held back feelingsCome tumbling out, All at OnceAnd you can’t stop the avalanche,The waterfall of sentiments and words,That so emotionally disturb and chant.And behold! the poem is born and lives,Reflecting all the mystery and force,That Life to Poetry gives.