It is more than the words,
The poet speaks,
It is a whole world to be shared,
As emotion suddenly peaks.
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Is everything related?
Like invisible midget spheres,Vitally turning in our genes?Are we related to the Giant Sequoia trees?To the tiny honey bees,To the blood colored Rose,That on her stem all about Love knows.As Science goes,Maybe one day,The Truth we’ll know.
Sometimes,
I want to cry,And the more I writeThe more difficultIt is for meTo keep my tired eyesDry.Why do we cry?I ask myself,Does it makeA differenceTo express,Tristess,That state ofMelancholy sadness,With tears?Maybe so,For Tears areOur Souls’ Rivers,That overflow.
I can never write
It would be likeBetraying myselfAnd so very, veryUnreal.
A poem teaches,
A poem cradles,A love you lose,And it consoles,Stings, big and small,Because it’s made,Of Love, that’s all.
Strange,
And you have to write,Like crawling out of a sacWhere you’ve been trapped,Deprived of Paradise,Until finally, you Crack!Become a poet,And who needs That! ! ? ?And,You think you’ve doneA great big thing,Leaning how to flyWith half a wing…
Do you know down deep inside you?
You’re the deepest, living feeling,That has ever lived in me,All my feelings, All together,Now belong in your caress,Tell me that you feel the same way,So my life, it can then be blessed.