Most don’t even know
What Poetry gives
As far as consolation,
To the soul,
Most have never even
Looked closely
At a Rose,
Its true color,
Its abode,
The drops of dew,
Silently, humbly,
Trembling,
Upon, petals sweet,
Daylight’s tears
That compose,
All that can marry,
Poetry to a Rose.
Even domestic animalsCrave itSo why deny its vital must?Without love, livingIs hollow, shallowNever will tall RedwoodsReach the stars,Nor will dreams sail the SeasThat even now, seem so far.
I climb, climb, looking,For you, in the icy snows,My heart thinks it knows,But sees nothing Clearly.What feeds the heart, but Love?Blood, only secondary,I lost you dreaming of,A Tale told by a Fairy.Alone now and Forever,Your words remain so still,The rivers have stopped flowing,And maybe I soon will.
Add to this the feeling of Forever,And the poet’s main ingredient,Which is Love.
When dreams were young,And hearts were spun,With threads of golden glow,And happiness just filled the air,Like none would ever know.So very long ago.Now Time has worn,Lives now are tornAnd Love is nowhere near,All that remains,An empty frameWith no one’s nameAnd one perpetual tear.
Our Lives are like raindrops in the Past,That disappear and won’t come back.Only Love Saves, till the bitter end,To Love and be Loved what more can there be?To Love and be Loved is pure ecstasy,A life fulfilled, Romantically.
A part of you,Like the last One,It was never enoughThis love, this lightThat is Poetry.
