At least,
Some,
Temporarily arrest
The pain around,
Put your heart at rest,
With deep melodious,
Sounds.
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To see, to feel, to write,
Has their own special way,Of seeing, feeling, beingAnd that is what, happilyGives each author’s writing,Each artist, each beingThat personal touch and mightWhich should never,Be tampered with,Or all of us would beSo boring, so alike!Individualism is,A human rightThe greatest works of artOur progress,Depends and is owedTo the individual’s dreamsA poet or some gifted personWho was inspired,…
Looking for What?
Like fat squatsNothing is ever enough!Until we lose it allAnd with a huff and a puffSuddenly, our world is blown downThen and only then do we realizeAnd appreciate what we, HAD.
Beauty flows
In a charming mannerLike a blessed thing.Look for it,Find itAnd you will feel,That special glowThe peace and happiness,That simple Beauty Brings.
On Valentine’s Day,
Ever to be written,Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘Anabelle Lee’Love, as only love,Should be,For they ‘Loved with a loveThat was more than love, ‘He and his Anabelle Lee,The fusion, of souls,The ultimate goalCaptivating allThat life should be,Irreplaceable Ecstasy.
Fine linens and White sheets,
Beauty is now in retreat,Seems sex ghoulsHave taken over,All the romantic-sweetnessOf Love,It’s overOver and out.Oh how I miss,Those white cliffsOf Dover,And the salty whiteFoam of the SeaThat never againWhite pure will be,As even tears will loseTheir meaning and transparency!As Purity of White is murdered,Taken away forever from humanity.
The excellence of Poetry
In the secret cornersOf softly sensitiveInner eyes,That can feelAnd look furtherThan what wordsJust signify,And decipherThe spiritual magicCommunicated,By a Poem’s sigh.Poetry!Magnificent AllureThat the spirituallySensitive,Cannot escape,Your Winter sunYour Summer shade,Life’s, escapade!The adventurous callThe Rhyme and Redemption,Of All inner Sails.