Philosophy and more,
It has the Poet’s Soul.
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Strange,
A poem is born,Out of a pen,And feelings alone,No plan in mind,The words intertwine,Sometimes, with music,Sometimes, with rhyme,But always with feelingThat can’t be explained,Like after a drought,The Life-giving rain.
Where are the men of valor?
That with their ‘savoir faire’Helped build this Country’s dome,A place that all Americans,So proudly called their home.Where are the men of honest heart?Whose love for country shone,And worked to achieve the betterment,For All, not just their own.Where are the men who would not take,Dictatorship of one?Who would not speak with lying words,Nor sly and twisted…
There was something
And how you wereSo very mine,That I will notCannot, forget,The Time,When life was oursAll verse and rhymeWithout regret,That day we metSo long agoNow turned to fog,No place to go…
No more Hill for Jack and Jill,
We have now gone down the Hill,And remain in deep foreclosure.
The thirst for learning
Conducts us downAn open roadFor us to chose,The way to goThe doors to open,Thoughts to flowDiscovery enriches LifeMore than we thinkMore than we knowThe richness alsoThe delight,Of learning furtherIs our might,A rose that opensEveryday,A ray of light,An open bayThe sea of knowledgeOpens wide,A glorious power,Life’s best fight.
Greatness can be found
Of a poem’s sound,And they may enter your heart,Nesting there forever,By your glory, crowned.