There are no cloudless

Without the question of,To be or not to be,Emotionally,There’s no objection.

You’re in danger of infection,And so vulnerable to pain!Poets tend to open further,Their most being’s private sense,So their open to infection,Caused by their own, innocence.It’s not good to bare your feelings,Nor to sincere preference,Weakness is to the beholder,Poet dreamer, sans defense.

Do we become more sage,With age or remain,The same old fools?Trying to replay,Our past mistakes?The same old play,While still on stage.Do we ever change?

What I read, askance,Give out complements,Like false peppermint scent,Giving praise, I never meant.Sincerity is not temerity,It’s part of a poet’s heart,Poetry is much too sacred,To lie about it and tear it apart.Be as it may,A critic, I am not,Selfishly, what touches me,Is what, I’ll keep in heart.

The true reality,Our own weakAnd distrustfulPersonalities,Not easy,Who to blameFor the disintegration,Of the societyWe live in?Not easy!In thousands of years,Neither politicsNor religion haveMade us betterWe remainAs shameful as everCrawling in our ownMan Made Mud,A disgrace to ourselvesAnd to the societyWe live in,A being no betterThan what the BibleTold us, once he was.We are what we areNot…

It will take you for an auto-ride,Maybe cook dinner for two.What I wrote is partly joke,But we’re now so mechanized,We communicate thru tablet-phones,We no longer read deep, human looks,Nor do we want to understandThe soothing language of the eyes.