The poet feels
A melody,
The music that is in the air,
That must become poetry fair.
The Dreamer’s song,
Near by the sea,
Blue sailing movement,
Sets it free,
A feeling that you don’t forget,
Like young first love, you don’t regret
The poet lives only for that,
It’s in the blood yet so abstract.
A poem is a poet’s song,
Fighting for beauty,
Right not wrong,
All love and warmth,
Sincerity,
Much more than words,
Fraternity,
An endless song,
Of peace and love,
Is what fool poets
Should sing of.
Mysterious sensations,Words that can’t be said,Enjoying every moment,Musically wed.
But is not loved,Sad is he who cries,Not knowing Why?Oh, the thinking brain,Helps not the Heart,Oh, why are we weakCannot restart?Crying in the night,Fearing the dark!
Wrote poetry,Harnessing lightening,Spiritually,Now people getTatous,As self-expression,Painting and writingOn themselvesAs dear possession,Seems to meThat, that must beA very strange,Painful, obsession.
It opens your mind,And in your heart can beam,A shining light,A lesson learned,A beauty seen,To be and not to seem,Even today, great Poetry is,The right of words to dream.
What is Not!Many try to beLike Salamander,Changing colors,CamouflagingBut, all fools,We are not!And hopefully,Sooner or laterIntelligent by standers,And decent good people,Will undo the evilGordian Knot.
Whoever hates this Country,Belongs in the Coo coo’s nest!
