Hurts!
It’s dim, you’re lost,
You feel your way around
But always end up
On unsteady ground,
Gazing into nothing
Not hearing,
Any of Life’s sounds,
Attached to nothing,
Yet knowing, Nothing
Will ever come around.
Similar Posts
Life sometimes
A tragedyWaiting to happen,Profit,From good momentsWhen you can,Cultivate,Love and BeautyLend a hand,After all,Those areThe blessingsThat in LifeCount and reallyReally, matter.
Poetry may be,
Of Arts,Even may be, the mostExpressively, emotionalBecause It comesAnd is written,From and by the heart.Yes, very personal,But, trying to reachThe light of the starsTo become, Universal.
Poetry at work,
One after another, after another,Time,The same exhilaration,Delirium, ecstasy, rapture,As the heart beats fasterAnd the Pen flies,Dripping imagination,You’re Salvation,The Soul rejoices,In every poetic sensation.
Sometimes I wonder
So many, takingInstead of giving,And Love,A personal misgiving,So hard to find,Its true beginning,So hard to findThe vagrant heartThat will not let yoursFall apart,That will sustain you,Love you, keep youSo well protected,In Love’s Arc.
Love should be,
All the rest,Is useless fire.
Poetry is a double-edge sword,
And yet, no one can completely know,What in the Soul does flow,Sometimes not even you.