Born from the Sea,
Take pity,
Of Mortals,
That look.
But can’t see,
The Silence of life,
And its tyranny.
To Love and be Loved,
Is all that should be,
To take us above,
All disparity.
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Strange, original,
Very green with many thorns,Desert Dwellers from some other planet?Above all, with naked hands,Don’t scan it!
Money is not honey,
What can you do with money?Buy things, put up the heat?I like the liberation,That money can achieve,But I’d rather write a poem,As a memory to leave.
Remembering
When Spring was youngAnd new,Is painful from the very start,No longer is it true.My days go by,In one big sigh,As empty as can be,Sometimes, I just sit down and cry,My heart, an escapee,For nothing of that love remains,Today, a memory.
Money is spent,
Lose theirGolden HoodsWith time,But kind wordsStay,And are rememberedEveryday.
Poets can also give the news
What really happens in the heart,Is what they usually say.
My Country, my Country,
We lost our fair Kingdom,I know it by Now.