Music to my ears,
Part of me is song.
When I write a poem,
I am never alone
Its tears are my tears,
Its images, my smiles
And the feeling of love
It gives me,
In me, never dies.
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Swimming in verse,
From darkness to light,As if hypnotized,I hold your ink stained hand,Trying to understand,Why, this one sided love affaire?Why, this constant love?Of which,I never seem to have enough.
Yes,
Played on a piano of metaphors,Each one having his unique imageHis way of saying, poetically,The original sentiments that make poets free,All of this owned, very personally.The rest is heart,Resoundingly blown,By a wind of words,For each his own,Their very soul.
People are fools,
They follow False OnesAs sheep,They have been easily,RuledBy the Charisma of SharksThus being drowned,In naiveté’s poolsWhere ignorance rules.
Poet Fools,
But in Real world,It’s War and Grease,So few attempts,To harmonize,Instead we’d rather,Paralyze,The Planet, Moon,The Ocean, fair,Because so Few,Do really Care!
Since I can’t stare
Where loveMagnifies,I stare into SadnessItself,Knowing that helpWill never come,And that lifeWithout youWill burn out,All by itself.
God Bless he,
A moment stopped,And Beauty trapped,Captured forever,By its Lenses.