Our minds are polluted

In our flowing lives we do recall,A few lost smiles, that turned to tears.Therefore, Roses,You taught me with your thorns,That life is sad,And that we must be grateful,For any happiness, we ever had.

Truth.I look at youSo beautiful.Petals of youthVelvet softPerfumed,With the magnificenceOf Nature’s secretsAnd I cryFor your thornsShow meThat life is sadAkin to pain,And life itselfIs slowly slain.And now,In the mirrorsOf TimeA slight breeze blows,Life losses glowThe sadness grows,Oh Rose,DivineNo longer mine.

A World, perfumed illusion,That enhances poet’s, sight.Thru Roses, scarlet color,Perfume and nectar flow,Thru Love we open power,The best we’ll ever know,Thru music we hear Poetry,With which our feelings grow.

Delving into the Sands of Past, Present and Future,Using their hourglass of words,From whither comes their stunning light.That is why, for me a Poet’s words are sacred,Better than those of a priest or any religion,For a Poet, even if he should try,Cannot hide behind a lie,Writing Feelings, tells you why.

Getting ready to fool,And talk to trained seals,That will grunt and applaud,The fish dangled in front,Of their dull minds and eyes,Thinking it will be,Their next promised meal,But the fish is secure,In the Corruption Machine,They’re only running,To get more and more,And the dumb applauding seals,Cannot even shop,At the Machine’s Profit Store.

Where only silent memoriesOf gone happiness persist.Silence is perpetual night,The absence of a kiss,Where warmth and light,Have taken flight,And hope is off the list.