Language is,
If we didn’t speak
We could not Lie
And None would die.
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Do not pretend
What you areNot!Sooner or laterThose with crocodileTears, Teeth and Smears,Are discovered,Plotting in theirRot,Believe it or not!
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.
A poem can be,
You receive one day,Full of beauty and melody,With the fragrance of surprise,Pleasant image to the eyes,That speaks a language,Never shy,But upholds sentiments,That just won’t die,And sometimes, only sometimes,May bring some tears,You have to cry.
This week,
With Rachmaninoff,I have his piano concertos,Playing in my head,They push me forward,Help me get ahead,Help me stay alive,In an ugly world,Of Love, deprived,I go around humming,The great melodies,All those that are near,Think I have lost my mindAnd therefore they fear,My ‘contagious desease’:To Love Music, ArtAnd Live as I please.
A single one,
One,With whichMost pain appears,The loneliest,Tear of all,All loveSuddenly gone,The Sun,That searsNo longer canAbsorb,The loneliestOf tears.The Saddest tear!The one you cryWhen desperateAnd all alone,The saddest oneOf all,When love,Has disappearedAnd life no longerHas the strength,To smileAnd be reborn…
Can Love ever be, fully explained?
And yet, much the same,Intensity, passion,Varies at times,But we all feel excitement,As love in us climbs.Those dearly beloved,To have and to hold,In Truth, overwhelming,So precious, so bold,The touch of hands meetingAs if they were gold,And passion, real passion,As never been told.The excitement, the throbbing,When loved one appears,The flow, overwhelmingOf love as they near,A tempest, explosion,As…