About a cough,
Normality is a triviality,
Not very often sought.
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You and I,
That Love is our obsession,Yes,I know,I love you so,My life is your possession.
I discovered that Love,
Is greater than man’s,Vile perversity,The love of a mother for child,Takes us far from our own wild side,The love that some fools have for Art,Makes a species that is quite apart,And the love that will always be yours,Widely opens of feelings, the enchanted doors.
Rhymes are made for children,
They seem to care,Warmth, music bear,Accompany you too.Their swaying, rhythmic music,Is like the morning dew,Refreshing like a new born song,That travels deep in you.
All of our thoughts
Philosophies to stay?Served,On Psychologycal tray.We have solved,Nothing!We are still as badAnd mean, as Ever,Even as brothersWe betray,And kill each other.It’s a bad day,Only nasty thingsTo sayBut if we lookBack in History,I suppose,We’ve alwaysBeenThis rotten way!Where have love,Compassion, goneOh, Heavens!Were they dead,Even before the lightOf rational thoughtWas born?
The loneliest poet in the world,
Has never cradled a poem,Has never a rhyme, heard.His loneliness is his poetry,His emptiness, his poem.It’s hard to write,When the heart feels not rightImpossible, to be a poet,When loneliness turns you into stoneAnd you feel and know it.
There are poems that remain,
And grow with time,Get under your skin,Not only for their rhyme.The more you know them,The more in you they singIn stature, in meaning,Passion and feeling,Always appealingAs they become,Thru loving osmosis,An integral part of you.