May come from a good film,
That like a friend, travels with us,
In plenty and in slim,
Its glorious message, never dim.
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The Artist looks up to the sky,
The Poet looks into the Rose,To see how passion from it grows,And I, I look into your eyes,To feel this Love that Never dies.
What is Love?
Asked by sensitiveHearts.Love is,That spell you fall underEmotional thunderThat life giving wonder,We can’t live without.
I have no music today,
I’ve run out of themes,Disappointingly,They come no more,Not even a slight knocking,At my cottage door.I’m dormant now,Have to figure out, somehowWhy I ever wrote, the things I did,But it really doesn’t matter,For I know that when I did,My inner feelings never lied,And sincerity is always betterThan a lot of useless clatter,It’s good to have that…
There are no
Only questionsThat get foldedOver and Over,One into anotherDepending on yourUpbringing, backgroundIndividual rebellion,Or cowardly convention,And yet!Some,The more daring,Keep on ThinkingAsking, HopingFor some,Devine interventionThat will help usUnderstandHuman corruptionAnd ‘Exceptionalism’
What does inspire us to Write?
A sudden scene, a sudden fright,Or just imagination’s flight?Love’s always good, the best of all,But is not always there, on call,And then there’s sadness and there’s pain,When Love is gone, creations wane,You feel you’ll Never write Again!
So many Mysteries,
From time to time,There is a spark,That lets us see some light,But more than once,Our quivering minds,Just transit in the dark,And once again, in search of Light,Our journey has to start.