The clouds that,
Silently go by,
We navigate,
With heart and eye,
And keep on asking,
Always, Why?
What greater pleasure,
Can there be?
Than paint or sing,
All that we see.
A Planet Wondrous,
Beauty shared,
Should be by all,
Enjoyed and cared,
To be a poet,
Artist be,
No greater happiness,
Have we,
Creative Spirit,
Live thee free,
Inspire us,
To better be.
And then,Even without realizing it,Desperately, loved you.I suppose,There are differentKinds of desperate loves,Those you can’t leave behind,And forgetAnd those you can’t live without.In both cases, its hard not toCry and shout!
There’s love between usAn endless Sea of capacity,Of Skies that open,Good and FreeAnd Love and Peace,Make up,Life’s gifted, fruitful tree,And that’s the wayAll Life should really be.
How would we share, without each other?Poets, ArtistsCreators, Brothers.
I am privilegedTo call her,‘My Friend’Which, for meFantastically,Is just right!
I conclude with all this living,That most loves are quite unfair.Lovers seeking in the moonlight,Paths, perhaps they’ll never find,Hearts that wither like a flower,Memories, that stay behind.
Music to my ears,Part of me is song.When I write a poem,I am never aloneIts tears are my tears,Its images, my smilesAnd the feeling of loveIt gives me,In me, never dies.
