Will be no more, one day,
Everything is transitory
Not even Love can save the day
Not even Love can save,
Anyone or anything,
From going, Forever, away.
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The Art of Language is Poetry,
So, you and I, we will never be apart,As long as a poem, everyday will start,The romantic beating of our helpless heart!
I can’t forget you,
I try.I will never be preparedFor that final,Goodbye.Love is a specialTyrant,And I can’t evenExplain, Why.
Words fall from nowhere,
Or troubled clouds over troubled hearts?For Love is also a song of Nowhere,When two Lovers are apart.
Our lives remind me
A complicated labyrinth,Minoan, Cretan, styleA puzzle,That We’re always,Trying to figure out,How to put togetherIn good or bad weatherBut sadly,Never, knowingHow!
Is there still hope that we will not end up,
That have tumbled through out history,Yes, those that thought they knew the ropes,But hung themselves anyway,Because of ignorance and tyranny.If a Country and its people do survive,It’s thru democracy, truth and values,Not infamy, lies or division,But together, as One Nation,With a universal vision.
Hobbling along,
Wounded in my Soul,Hit by an invisible arrow,Pain is so personal,Disappointed,Not anointed,Not happy at all,In pain,In my distress,Silence, my only caress,Silence, my only friend,That loves me the best,But cannot feel my pain.Nor help me become happy again.