The skies are gray, and lightning rays,
Illuminate the darkness.
There is no song for Love that’s gone,
And you, you keep on caring,
Your heart becomes a jaded cage,
From then on all despairing.
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Like a miracle,
Poetry can recreateAnd transmit feelings.Something,That nothing elseCan do,A veritable and sincere,ConspiracyBetween the poet and you.
Poets, like busy bees
A new poem, written with easeWith rose petals, floral peaceHas the whole hive giving lectures,For they are of poetry,The best readers and protectors.Poets are like bees,Their poems areTheir reason for beingAnd just like beesThey keep pollinatingTheir writing, so that wordsTake on true meaning,Make sure their sweetnessAnd deep felling,Will connect us.
Who makes deals with the enemy,
Political Idiots, two-timing Dopes,Cowards, not true nor real Men!And the Sheeple are willingly going,To the sacrificial rock,And no one does absolutely anything,To STOP, this deadly-perfidious mock!
Like an actor,
Sometimes a poetHides behind his art.Not wanting his true painTo be known,He calls ‘Poetry’, his home.
I never give up,
Can’t understand,Being sly,Love thru Poetry,Is well worth a try.
All of our Country had a big fall,
All politicians and all evil men,Couldn’t put Country together Again!