That’s what the World,
Should be made of.
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We praise those
Good,After they’re goneBut while alive,So many fight themNever seeingThe generous light,That surroundsThem,With goodness and truth,Don’t be fooled by evil,Wake up, honor good!
There is a sort of
Since Robert M.SmithHas gone.Poem HunterNot the same!Its luster and shinePoetic grace,Gone!Feel sort ofOut of sortsAnd sort of numb.
In the Golden Trellis of Life.
I want to fill the EarthWith Song,Grateful melodies,Alive!For All that Love,And do no wrong.
I have come to the conclusion,
About all that we’re about,What is good and what is bad?What is true and what is sad?What is man, forever mad?Nothing known, and nothing fixed,Makes the World a ‘dangerous mix’
No,
The tears start to flow,No matter what you do,No matter how much you try,The pain is always there,Like a dented rack,Whose notches turn,From my flesh into my bloodMore painful every day,No matter what I doNor what I say,The pain is always thereAnd will Never go away.No,You never recover,From love and loss,You become like a stoneThat…
You can really tell
Just written,With momentsPurposely lost,It just does not haveThat magic spellThat poets as magicianDo so well,You can’t fake a poem,And for the sakeOf all thoseWith Poetry, enamored,Just as well!