To forget oneself in another,

And invades us with its skill,It perfumes the lovely rose,That suddenly in us grows,Love sings everywhere it goes.Love is like a sudden chill,That remains and works its will,Can’t forget its ever thrill,Love that’s lost, remains Love still,Love is love and constantly,It’s the All that makes us Be.

I’m tired of speaking to the wall,Or looking at white sheets of paperWhere all my words stall,Neither wall, nor paper, care at all!Where do I go from here?To a glass of red wine, or a beer?

Or have no proof ofHow to handle,Not only your fingersMay get singedBut your ownIntegrity and reliabilityMay be questioned,Melted or burnt awayLike a lying, candle.

That are sage and well intended,When they want to get selected,But once in a state of power,It’s as if an ice cold shower,Washed away All they PretendedYes, ladies and gentle voters,Pay attention, close your motors,Dressing salads, gets elected.

The size of a flower,With beauty that towers,Wings tiny that sing.It’s made up of colors,Was born to be freeIn perpetual motion,A joy, just to see.

Ever to be written,Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘Anabelle Lee’Love, as only love,Should be,For they ‘Loved with a loveThat was more than love, ‘He and his Anabelle Lee,The fusion, of souls,The ultimate goalCaptivating allThat life should be,Irreplaceable Ecstasy.

At the end of Life’s tunnelThose that sacrifice,That truly fight, deep viceCriminality and abuse,But respect,The going forth of LifeItself.Those that interfereWith the normal sphereOf life,Should be rejectedFrom the start,Never followedNor should they,Become a partOf the social heartOf a proud Nation.Always strive for betterWorking togetherWe become invincible!But a house dividedNever standsThe decadence of EvilGoes against all…

I think so,It’s not difficult to know,How to open Heaven’s gate,Sometimes love just cannot wait,And we Communicate,In ways that only lovers know,With looks, and feelings all a glow,That illuminate our Souls,Without a word, magically, we knowWhen Love arrives, you don’t let go.

Is a miracle.Whether sadOr enthusiasticGay or pathetic,BrilliantOr just simply written,For it can translateCherished, secretsInner feelingsOf a lifetimeof a second, of a day,Into precious worded songsThat stay,Unforgettably sublimeThat remain as written,Sentiments, friendsLive souvenirsIn a most unusual,And inexplicable way.Palpitating, alive,With soul reachingTenderness,Conquering Time!Lovingly, sincerelyEvery good poemA miracle,Breathing immortalityThrough love and inspirationIn a most mysterious way.

The oldest and less profitableOf all Arts,But who cares?As long as it touchesThe deepest fibersOf loving hearts.

A chapter writtenEveryday,But it’s up to usTo do our best,To plant with zest,The wondersThe spiritual infusions,The good kind feelingsThat should give riseTo BeautyArt, Love and CompassionAbove,Everything else.

The inner heart, Emotion, real,Is to be, forever blessed.