Of Arts,
Even may be, the most
Expressively, emotional
Because It comes
And is written,
From and by the heart.
Yes, very personal,
But, trying to reach
The light of the stars
To become, Universal.
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We sing, we love,
And sometimes,In a LifetimeWe don’t evenKnow, why.
The World is made
Changing the WorldSuch fool’s delight,We travel vast,We travel farAnd yet things stayThe way they are.So very technically advancedBut Evil still holds Evil’s trance,We hope to be invincible and strongBut seem to worship all that’s wrong,Never redeeming Love’s sweet song.We hate, destroy and persecute,Yet, Cavemen live inside each brute,Remaining, true to our first roots.
Every good poem
Is a miracle.Whether sadOr enthusiasticGay or pathetic,BrilliantOr just simply written,For it can translateCherished, secretsInner feelingsOf a lifetimeof a second, of a day,Into precious worded songsThat stay,Unforgettably sublimeThat remain as written,Sentiments, friendsLive souvenirsIn a most unusual,And inexplicable way.Palpitating, alive,With soul reachingTenderness,Conquering Time!Lovingly, sincerelyEvery good poemA miracle,Breathing immortalityThrough love and inspirationIn a most mysterious way.
The seed of Life in every fruit,
The bearing tree has understood,The mission to create,But, We, poor fools,Do not know yet,That Love’s better than hate.
They live off, of lies,
Making fools believe themMonsters of Evil and hypocritesThe Devil bears, Marx’s nameThey promote free speech,But won’t allow it,Know the truth while there’sStill time,They owe us the truth!And if they deny itWhich they will,We owe them.Defeat!
A Vital pain,
As Time goes on,We face with courage,Tomorrow’s, fast approach!We must retain,The same strong courage,To face the Future,With the knowledge,That what we were,Will not return.That how we were,Cannot return.