But Who can Stop,
What Never should begin!
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Feeling,
Imaginary FlairsThat go,Everywhere
Poetry opens doors to the traveling Wind,
Thoughts that have been spun within,Like the dancing leaves of an Autumn day.
I breathe poetry,
Am alive thru poetry,All by myself,With no one to shareThis piecing love,Within meAs if I were livingOn a distant planet,All by myself.But my love increasesDay by day,And if one dayI have nothing to say,Nothing to writeNothing to live for,I will go awaySilently, miserably,Hopelessly,Because poetry and IWe were born togetherOn the same dayBy some magicalUndeserved favor,And,…
Real Poetry is like This,
It can create inexplicable bliss.Bless the daysAnd the nightsOf the true Poet.For spreading,Love, DreamsAnd LightWhile fighting schemes,Will be forever,His holy write.
One thing is to write,
Not always those that write,Do what they say they feel.
Ah,
The very roots of Life,It would be like feelingOf Eternity, the Light.