But I’m strange too.
Two Strangers,
Loving from afar,
Dreaming Of,
A reachless, Star.
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Tenderness,
Living word there is!If not felt,Of Life,A certain miss.
Poets, like busy bees
A new poem, written with easeWith rose petals, floral peaceHas the whole hive giving lectures,For they are of poetry,The best readers and protectors.Poets are like bees,Their poems areTheir reason for beingAnd just like beesThey keep pollinatingTheir writing, so that wordsTake on true meaning,Make sure their sweetnessAnd deep felling,Will connect us.
In a tidal wave of fury,
And yet, and even so,He was still able to create,Amazing, marvels,We are, without a doubtIncredible, Scoundrels.
Take me
Where all good soulsMust go,Where there is no pain,Just love insane,Where heartsJust palpitate and grow.Give me,That hallucinating glow,Teach meWith your wanting eyesThe secrets of Love’s sea,Love’s tides,Keep me in your tender armsAnd never let me freeDon’t you understand?That only loveCan make life flowAnd that my soulWill only your love,Ever want or ever know.
‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever, ‘
To become favored in our mind,And stay in memory, for ever.
Went on a writing
Told I was on theFringeDidn’t Care!Getting successfullySingedWas for me,Holiday, ware.