The psychological necessity,
Of lending, an amorous hand.
Poetry cradles the poet
In a motherly fashion,
Wiping, away some of the tears
That have already,
Gone out of fashion.
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The essence of infinity,
Yes, it is,But,Does this really answer?The Quiz….
True Art does not know old,
In living beauty,In poems told,In all that’s love,Not bought, not sold.
Love is my religion,
And it is the vision,Of our earthly peace.If you Love me always,Then, I’ll be at peace,But without you, dearest,Pain will never, cease.Love is my religion,Prayers are newly found,But I am so lonely,If you’re not around.Love is my religion,Poetry, my soul,Music, is completionBrings together, AllLove, music, creation,Summit, Elevation,Purity, doth speak,Deeply, in my religion,As Love with emotion,Reaches…
I am convinced,
Touches Great Poets,As the hand writes,The heart feels,All the delights,All the hurts,That ever were,And from some unknown zone,A new life is born,Out of happiness or despair.
The Time has passed,
It takes a lot,To keep one sane,I still remember,All the same,All that you said,And what it meant,And why I bled,And why one’s life,Can’t go ahead,Without the One,That you once wed.
Water, Mountain and Sky,
Blue Planet, we know but one,Take care of it’s Beauty,If strangled, we’re done.