Most Poetry lovers,
Prefer Love to hate.
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Poetry was meant to share,
Feelings silently come on,Here today, but then their gone,Curious how they fluctuate,Rushing in or rushing out,Strong today, tomorrow’s doubt,Yet there is something that’s sure,Love so deep and true and pure,Never losing its allure.
You don’t chose to be a poet,
A feeling,You can’t grow it,You just are.A grant of loving light,That lets words go on flight,You don’t chose to be a poet,It’s your star.
If someone rejects me,
But not to create a pearl,Just to meditateAnd think,That I have to wise up!
Art, as therapy
Against, the World’sAbsurdity,Politics, as perversityControlled, cynicismFrom within,For evilTo spoil all,Life in generalFatigue, FearMind and SpiritFor all we doIs question AllNo true answersGiven,And that’s all….
We are all addicted to something,
It is amazing how most people,Tend to destroy themselves.Fragile is the Flesh,And the Mind too.We are mostly made of mesh,Where All, but pain goes thru.
If you have no good feelings
Then you have no soul,And if you have no soulYou’re not a person at all.