That can compare,
Nor that we best can share.
Writing is an Art
Of inner soul and flight,
Of unimaginable might
Of feelings that have wings,
Of inner songs that sing
Of new dawns that arrive,
Of human tenderness
Where words can sweetly nest
And all great Love you’ll find
In Wisdom’s deep caress,
Imagination’s sight,
Its Wings forever bright.
To love you,But I doMagical feeling,This deep flowing love,Inside me,That proves more and more,To be true.
And the sound of ‘Never, Never’,Seems to always seal my fate.I had dreamt of you so often,Love complete and full of grace,I had loved you as a Secret,Never having seen your face.The Ideal we fall in love with,Is sometimes a desperate case,Not responding, corresponding,To our mental, warm embrace.Yet, I’ll not betray you ever,And this Love…
Yet Language is supposed to be,A gift we use more sensibly,Good communicability,A sweet recall of memory,That tells of Life’s secret affaires,And has but Love with All to share.
Each one of us thinks,We’re always Right,No matter what we say.
The Whole World,With one great take,Be it film or be it poem?YES!And it’s something,You can’t fake,She’s done it,For Beauty’s Sake!
Trying to bring some light,To the many Mysteries there.
