And I say,
Pity, please!
Good poems
Are like flowers
Whose perfume
Will not cease,
That you can read
At leisure,
May bring you
Certain pleasure,
Even one day
Be treasure
That helps
A lonely heart
Find peace.
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Is there in every poet,
Of incipient insanity,Because they write,And think so much.
Dreams are made of fog and clouds,
Poems too are but a dream,That you can’t refrain.Poems, dreams and lifeless themes,Where are we to turn?If life is but a cloudy dreamWhere, our candle, Burn?
Once a poet, always a poet,
The poet hopes his inner flowers,Will turn into poetic towers,While he makes love to the Moon.
Follow the Lies
To the Truth,When they becomeSo uncouthSo on mud’s sideSo blatantly absurdThey can’t evenBe said, understoodOr heard.And then,Lies will fallBy their own weightAs they presentA most absurdState of affairs,Letting true democracyServe the people,Accions will speakLouder than wordsWith truth and factsThat nobody dare hide!
We get fooled,
AGAIN!By shrewd, dishonest,Politicians,That are very badOpticians, sellingPink colored lenses,To those that alreadyAre not seeing, Well!
Ah,
So pure, so blue, so high,You and IParadise,In a sigh.