As Love reached its highest peak,
As we looked into each other’s eyes,
As our hands interlaced,
When Love did meet the Ecstasy,
That no human power can defeat!
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How can people live
Literature’s RoseThat flowersIn our darkestAnd happiest hours!The white SwanThat sees us thruThe inner tragediesThe feelings,That prose coversIn a completelyDifferent manner.
Poets are a strange lot
Feelings and poetic flashes,Quite a lot.Greatest satisfaction!Above all,Never political plotsPoets love humanity,Quite a lot!
In the Mad-Poetic world,
Was a Poet never heard,For it never was his hour.He had gone and warned the World,Of impending, danger, power,But the people kept on dancing,Just like fools, around his tower.Poets, Idealists and Lovers,This old World has never changed,Poets, stay in Ivory TowerAnd pretend you are deranged.
To see, to feel, to write,
Has their own special way,Of seeing, feeling, beingAnd that is what, happilyGives each author’s writing,Each artist, each beingThat personal touch and mightWhich should never,Be tampered with,Or all of us would beSo boring, so alike!Individualism is,A human rightThe greatest works of artOur progress,Depends and is owedTo the individual’s dreamsA poet or some gifted personWho was inspired,…
I find such delight
Like a loving hug,Or chocolate candy,I just hope that sometimes,I get it rightAnd can make others feel,Fine and dandy.
Nebulous poetic dreams,
Trying to reach the sky,Aspirations, high,Trying to purify,Our human faults,Trying to find Love,To heal life’s,Sudden jolts,And doors that closeWith disappointing, bolts.