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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Gone are the caresses
Now I must content myselfWith virtual love,Difficult to doWhen all you’ve ever lived forIs, ‘I love you’.Difficult to face each morning,Without a vital yearningDifficult to faceThat song, without music,When you’re alone.
Who lies best,
Sheep don’t notice,It’s a Sin.
For everything we have we should be grateful!
Filled with palpitating life-giving Light,But We, we don’t see the Light,We destroy the gifts, the gods gave us,Way back when, we were but a cell,With no destructive might,In the Night of Time.
Poetry,
Sometimes you can saveRenew and redeem us, All.
The quiet cool,
Cradles me softly,With Emerald ease,There is a calm,A sweet refrain,A certain song,That seem to wane,All vital pain.The Peace of Trees,Life giving, breeze,Your calm is like,A newborn psalm,Life giving Green,Leafy Arcade,Of Life and Love,All trees are made.
Love makes itself,
It can’t be forced or bought,Like the perfume of a Rose,It’s origins, unthought.