Wanting to be lived!
To the utmost Romantic scenes,
Life is a film,
And I am the director of my will,
And the Star of my dreams.
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Everything has a purpose,
Where then does poetry go?Straight to the heart,As far as we know,After that,It becomes inner light,Holding onto feelings,So very tight.
We now have,
Of who, (or is it whom?) ,Is going to lead the American cattle.Never before seen,2 such candidates.From Wuthering Heights,(wuther=to blow with a dull roaring sound)We’ve fallen very low,Leaving our muddy footprints,In a slosh of political snowUnable to think for ourselvesOr even growLaying there, inertlyAs the cold wind of defeat,Howls and blows.Forgive me for being so…
It doesn’t take volumes,
A simple,‘I love you’Can many hearts heal.Poetry knows thisAnd does it so well,Just, two fine lines,Can cast magic spell.
Words are treasures with wings
Free, self-expression,And when they leave,A good impressionAn aura of learningAnd closeness, is felt,Creating, magical links.
I have no one,
My thoughts to compareMy likes or dislikes,My doubts or cares,The Times that were,Past, Present, Future,I just don’t care,Living out of Time,In the Land of Anywhere.
There is no perfect time for writing verse,
Like love, it can’t be forced,Like love, it can’t be stopped.