No matter how much, Tyrants will cloud,
Poetic words will still think out loud.
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Hope, seems to be on vacation
We can’t find any nationDesired, to stand up for,Applaud with admiration.By Whirlwind social syndrome,So much is changed and swallowed,So little good is followed,What will be left of Us?Of Nations?Come tomorrow.
The lines of age,
Of every simple life,In them we read,Kindness or greed,The story of those lives.It pays to live a decent life,Before the end arrives,Do good, never do bad,And then those linesThat old age brings,Won’t make you all that sad.
Fiddles and Riddles,
That’s how Poets speak,They’re called ‘metaphors’,But their clarity is often weak,It’s only twisted language,Where imagination and absurdity peakIn a lonely World, so cold and bleak.
What is a poem
A hopeless shadowWithout a friendWith whom to shareSome happiness,Sometimes, a sorrowWhich in the end,Is simplyLife’s truest blend.
Today,
Most relationships don’t last,Selfishness, interest moves most heartsLifelong friendships are a thing of the past.
As in a prayer,
And Dare,Make you my Refuge, forever,As long as I live, as long as I breath,I promise to honor and love you,As if we had Always been together,Blending Soul and Spirit,In a Love that has no measureAs in a prayer,Always together.