To the idealistic poet
Little does it matter,
The necessity,
For expressing, feelings
Inner thoughts,
The opportunity
Of getting read
Is all that matters!
Spiritual Wellness
Has no price,
Poetry helps some
To continue on,
And not shatter.
To the idealistic poet
Little does it matter,
The necessity,
For expressing, feelings
Inner thoughts,
The opportunity
Of getting read
Is all that matters!
Spiritual Wellness
Has no price,
Poetry helps some
To continue on,
And not shatter.
Taking away from our hearts,The very breath,Loved ones gone,No longer can we arrest,Life’s lonely feeling of emptiness.
Open my hands,Despair,I move my lips,A kiss,I dream a dream,Of bliss,I feel your presence,In my blood,Love rushing thru me,Like a flood,My heart no longer,In its place,I feel your touch,Your warm embrace.Who are you?Tell me, I must know,‘I’m just the wind,Please, let me go’
Where does lifeBegin or end?So many answers given,But not OneCan fully explain,Nor even start,To comprehend.That the fogThat we live inIs but anguishTill the end.
Could it be that I’ve acquired,The syndrome of ‘I don’t care’,And have nothing more to say?
That’s what makes Poems such great things,Hoping their secrets to share.
It’s not only their face,It’s not only their eyes,Above all it’s the Soul,That shines, identifies,And silently signifies,Love’s mysterious, flowing tide.