In Poetry,
Nothing, should be concealed,
The flow must be constant,
Clear and grand,
Like a bell that has finally,
Found its true land,
Feelings and words,
Then do intertwine,
Poetry touches,
A cord that’s divine.
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Wrapped up in Poetry,
The psychological necessity,Of lending, an amorous hand.Poetry cradles the poetIn a motherly fashion,Wiping, away some of the tearsThat have already,Gone out of fashion.
Sometimes,
Film’s, musical scoresInvade my heart,And not only do I seeThose romantic lovers,In their dreamy filmsBut I also hear and liveThe galactic musicOf the stars,That makes me, evenSometimes, cry.Music, that willAlways thrill me,That has been with meLike a friendThat will not part,Just stay foreverIn my silly heart.
I don’t know why?
I should be sad, like I am, Everyday,But I don’t know why?I’m just a little happy, today.Maybe it’s because I’ve written,More than other days,Maybe it’s because I didn’t listen,To the horrible news of the day,Maybe because I feel less lonely,Writing away,Maybe because it’s only Monday,And ‘I think’ I have something to say.
What is a poem
A hopeless shadowWithout a friendWith whom to shareSome happiness,Sometimes, a sorrowWhich in the end,Is simplyLife’s truest blend.
You give me life,
You make me floatOn love’s blue breeze,You make me feelThat life is goodAnd that thingsWill beAs they should,Who are you, pray?And should I tell,You are the PoemI love, so well.
Exercise in though,
Cannot be bought,Rhyme cannotBe sought,Love cannotBe whishedLike a CafeteriaDish,And if you areNot FrenchYou can’t createAn Ohh-la-laDelicious Dish.