A Rose is not
A rose,
It is Perfection’s
Vice.
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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.
Sometimes,
They abandon us for othersFidelities, hardly, knownBut it doesn’t matterI’m accustomed to being,Alone.
There is no perfect time for writing verse,
Like love, it can’t be forced,Like love, it can’t be stopped.
Poems know,
Like two intertwined lovers,You can’t tell them apart.
Where did Beauty go?
The Art we loved so much,Of feeling, deep, beyond,The outer shell of chance,The Romance,Once the World did knowWhere, oh, where did it go?‘Gone With The Wind’Romantic glow,How I regret the years,That have passed,And all the beauty that once was,Cast into the swamp of litany,Lost in the shadows,Of non-creativityNever again to see the light,And artistically,To have…
I can’t write,
And can’t feelWhat is not true,Sincerity and TruthHave for meSpecial appealAnd should alwaysBe keyTo expressing,The real you,At least,In my humble view.