Delving into the Sands of Past, Present and Future,
Using their hourglass of words,
From whither comes their stunning light.
That is why, for me a Poet’s words are sacred,
Better than those of a priest or any religion,
For a Poet, even if he should try,
Cannot hide behind a lie,
Writing Feelings, tells you why.
It obeys no rules,Is afraid of no danger,Soothing the emptinessOf fears and loneliness.
Best if left untouched,We are such complicated beings,We need so desperately to be loved,That sometimes these chocking feelings,Just appear, and hurt so much,Being tears, our only crutch.
Sweetly desireAnd love,There isn’t much leftBetter still,Is there anything leftClean, good to desire?We live in a WorldOf ugliness, moral theft,And destructive, FireWhere robbers are heroesMoral rape, we accept,Where sanity and beautyAre spat upon and mocked,Where to go?When all decency seemsTo be gone,And all sensitivity,Crushed and shocked,Devastatingly, blocked!Lost amongst the screamsOf a deadly, choir.
To decide for me?How, I am to live?What I am to know?Or where is My Life,Supposed to go.You’re not a god,Much less, a king,You’re not even a Clown,In a Circus ring.
One,With whichMost pain appears,The loneliest,Tear of all,All loveSuddenly gone,The Sun,That searsNo longer canAbsorb,The loneliestOf tears.The Saddest tear!The one you cryWhen desperateAnd all alone,The saddest oneOf all,When love,Has disappearedAnd life no longerHas the strength,To smileAnd be reborn…
But creating Hell on Earth,It is We that fan the Winds,That do so.
