Like busy bees
They make honey
Out of words,
Sometimes
But never money.
Just as well!
A poet’s thoughts,
Cannot be bought
Nor would they
Ever have a product
That even,
Shopping fools
Would buy for money.
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I’ve never felt so alone,
Deep inside me,This empty feeling,This lonely, ‘no home’,Travels, beside me.No warmth, no smiles,Just millions of miles,Of memories,Past, Present and Future,CollideUp and down in my mind,Up and down as they hide,Deep inside me!
Classical music,
In my head,What pleasures lie aheadAnd still await me!So I find the orchestralPiece,Play and Listen,Never disappointingAlways upliftingEven if heard,Many, many timesSurely,Interpretation counts,As excitement mounts.Classical Music,Adoring,Exploring, new worldsOf feelingsThat in delirious abstractionKeep shifting.Uplifting, melting away,RealityFeeling new sensations,Of elevation, incredibly,Until then, unknownWe travel, melodiouslyFlown, to another GalaxyWhere dreams, keep existingAnd Beauty, is still known.
Actually,
What can you changeWith a Rhyme?But since Time,Means nothing to me,I shall waste of itAs much as I want,Writing Poetry.
Poets,
Come togetherAnd sometimes, it even pays off,Thru certain dear hearts and friendsYou’re encouraged by Them,And not always thought ofAs a useless stickThat the wind and life, bend.
As Music sooths,
Poetry, for the heart,Is an unending feast!
Poetry,
So many Poets!So many claims!To practice,MagicWe hopeNot in vain.