Why he can’t stay alive,
Or why someone wants to take away his life,
With what right?
Hunting is cruel,
A sport that kills, is not a sport,
Whether it be directed towards man or beast,
Persecuted, killed being innocent,
Resembles more, the Devil’s feast.
His land should be sincerityAnd Love, true camaraderie,No lies no falsehoods ever,Makes all lives beautifully better.
They are my herds,My refuge, my passion,I revel in the waters of spoken thought,The surround sound effect embraces meAs if language were my lover,My Master, my only Hope.
And Yet,Can you believeWhat anyone says?Confused and obfuscated,We reach for the Truth,Knowing, very well,It’s been strangled, Murdered!In an invisible telephone booth.
That Lost Star,Has never come my way,I have tried to find itIn the Sky so far and high,But there are no answers,No matter what I try.
For which, You only hold the keyWhen you are writing poetry.
You are the very reason I exist,The Light that dissipates Life’s lonely mist.
