Since he’s born,
We know not why,
Things do go wrong,
Is it the Brain?
Is it the Heart?
That seems to tear us All apart,
Enigmas, strange, that never find,
Answers in Times, long left behind.
What do we want, where do we go?
To find what no one seems to know,
Enigma, Man, Great mystery,
Why are we here, when naught we see,
We do not change, the same old song,
Doing to others what is Wrong,
And as we search within our mind,
The more we know, less Truth we find.
Believe it or not,The Rain flows thru my fingers,Producing pain.All my life,Things have been the same,Illusions that fly,Never reaching the sky.In the rain, I cry,Asking why?Ideals,Were a steal,When the Horse of Troy appeared,When’La Grande Illusion’ andJean Renoir gave it a try,On the World War sky,When the gods still magnified,Their power over mankind,And said things would…
Travel, silentlyAnd we inspire one another,Poets feeling, other Poets’Poetry,But the warmth that comesFrom that invisible,Collaboration,Is as natural asCan be,Close to loveFor one another,Seriously.
On too high a flame,The contents get burned,They lose their worth,And no one will come,A looking.
Love all that,That cannot be,And still be part of Mystery.
You have really opened windows,Satisfaction, for all time.
Nor flowers from hot houses,For it grown,Greatness stands quite well,Just on its own,You can’t invent it,Or its Light, disown,Greatness can’t be bought,Or even taught,It comes within the soul,With which your born.
