Things were never So in Paradise,
Seems that Evil’s here to stay.
There are devils in Paradise,
That impose their hideous way,
The good winds have fled Paradise,
Leaving only shades of gray.
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Moving, to the hilt,
Understanding, faith and love,That’s what poems are made of.
I have no one to talk to,
That makes me terribly depressed,For I am not my friend,I know myself too well,Enemies march home together,My company is no company,I try to talk to myself,Certainly not in public,For I’d be taken away,I try to talk to myself,And I’ve got nothing to say.Another day,The few words that come are Hollow and Hurt,A dead Rose, as…
How easily depressed we can become!
We’re certainly dark creatures of unrest,Not even Freud could change us for the best,As humans we don’t really pass the test.Sorry!
Oh Swan,
The purity of feather goes together,With the purity sought,By fallen man,Once his soul was lost.Oh Swan,Could I ever aspire,To describe the desire,Of saying what you really are?The everlasting pure white choir,Of a floating star.
I like to write
Give TruthThe HeightIt deserves,And love,All creaturesWith great might,Love savesThe little lightWe still, conserve.
Each one of us has his drama,
Dramatically exciting,Dramatically beautiful,Dramatically stupid or sad,Dramatically Loveless!Ah, now that’s very bad!Love is Everything,Without it,A colorless rose,At the foot of a precipice,A song without words does compose.