That darkly loom
Inside lagoons,
That sometimes are like hell.
We humans cannot face things,
Those things we cannot tell
That silently, remain unfree
Inside each one’s, inkwell.
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The hands that touch
Without a wordNot even saidYet they expressDeepest caressOf Love, sometimesThe very best.
Everything seems to be
Up-and-down and even sidewaysAre the paths to hell,Paved, with good intentions,But there aren’t evenGood intentions, today.Up and down and all aroundThe Devil is dancingIn a perverse wayRecruiting followers,Burning ships on his wayBrainwashing, idiotsThat have nothing to sayBut they help lightThe fires from Hell,Hell’s firesThat once startedWill burn, the little leftThat’s good and decentLeaving us orphaned,And…
Now everything between us is:
Who ever knew propriety or decency?Anything goes, the Highs and the Lows,Depending on the icy Wind that blows.
What do we know?
Of nothing are we sure,That may not be invention,Of those that fake History,And take advantage,Of the few Innocents leftIn this valley of imperfection,As the light of truth gets dimmer,And our blood line to our History,So much thinner.
Forest, dull and dreary,
I climb, climb, looking,For you, in the icy snows,My heart thinks it knows,But sees nothing Clearly.What feeds the heart, but Love?Blood, only secondary,I lost you dreaming of,A Tale told by a Fairy.Alone now and Forever,Your words remain so still,The rivers have stopped flowing,And maybe I soon will.
It is the little joys that count,
A summer seashore splendid breeze,Then holding hands as sweethearts do,Love is so grand when felt by two,When Love is there, the whole world sings,Worth more than all material thingsIn life it is what mostly countsThe joy supreme, the happiness.That does all life totally bless.