When happiness was King,
And in my heart,
There was a start,
Of birds wanting to sing,
Life flew away,
Like a short day,
And Love went with it too,
And here I am,
I contemplate,
So far away from You.
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We are complicated Imps,
Hairless, Chimps,But we all, fight like they do,More sophisticated, too.We’re a mystery on the whole,Having practiced many roles,We don’t even know ourselves,Are surprised by the reactions,Of our inner secret-selves.I would really like to know,Who produced this tragic-show,We are really quite a mess,More we live, more we’re depressed.
Have you ever thought white paper,
That have given up their being,So that great books can be written,Many readers, teach and please.We should all be grateful Always,To the trees that gave their life.So that writers from all nations,Could keep culture’s light alive,Making books such an important,Part of History and our lives.
Write about Life,
Love is the nicest, poem,We have ever heard.
Refinement of imagination,
Live and beating heart,That helps all of us,Not fall apart.
Can words
Follow paths,Far, far awayFeel the sun-sea, paradiseMake you feel, all comfortableAnd nice,Like perfumed, summer roses,Beauty’s sheer delight.Some poets’ poetryHas that rare effect,That cannot be boughtThat cannot be taughtBut that canAwaken, deep passion,Be enjoyed,Over and over againLike a lover’s kiss,Or a deep caress,With a love attractionThat you totally possess.
If the World were more like Poets,
Because at least in simple verses,We share our melancholy.