What good is it to cry?
If all that hurts,
Remains the same.
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Life,
Is a long-short storyWith a bad ending,Depending, on what you doWho you meet,Who you are,Some have it better than othersBut life is out of our controlNo matter, who you areFor there are governmentsMade up of the most,Dishonest lying people,Rather, they Are crooksThat manipulate countries and lives,As if they were pieces of meatCarved up by their…
Because love is a special land,
A land where no secrets are kept,Where lover’s learn to have respect,Because Love’s better than all hate,I want to love you now, not wait,For Life so often castigates,And cuts the cords, and separates.And then for Love it is too late.
Sensitivity begets tears,
To not feel at all,Than to feel and not be near,That, that cannot be,Never to posses the golden tear,Of love that suddenly appears,But then becomes a whisper in the wind,Now so far away, when once so near.
Our poor former President,
For All present ills,That the Country sustainsAnd a certain Someone,Who is ‘never to blame’,Has told us, much more of the same,Now it’s our turn, to open eyes and see,We can blame that certain Someone,To a much higher degree
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,…
I think many poets,
Almost neverSleep!They stay upShuffling words,Writing dreamsInstead of countingSheep.