Lands read and the descriptions are needed
To understand what it\'s given away to thee?
Whenever what takes hold of things, remember what it is
He who takes account of caring or shall I say \"it\'s just for me\".
There, in God\'s hands, a life is lost severely
We cry a little so bend a lot and ask why?
Since fingertips and footsteps helped the diversity of life
From dawn to dusk since it\'s been just the blink of an eye.
Fleeting moments of case file fiction hated humanity
When half the world sat down and protested
Against the poor old prophets and the dead
It\'s then the human soul became infected.
A struggle with a strife lost a hope and glory
Never understanding the philosophy of it
Truly there must be more to it than said
Filled with bloodied humour and their wit.
Sincere prayers keep the religions burning on a high
Down on bended knees, we look up to what we perceive
Shallow graves and shallow minds fill up an empty dark
Desperation\'s started to mend when we felt the need.
A graceful disposition excepted in reality gave in
Locked away in a mental institution
Ready and dribbling in violent dangerous outbursts
Strapped down by a hearts tiny revolution.
Where dinosaurs once roamed there was an awful death
And then up popped the humans on a road to democracy
When flint struck first fire and cooked
The rest turned up with controversy.
Time stood still for a blinkered moment of madness
As a painter takes to his brush the paint pot thickens
With a vision in reflections in light and love
Shadows hid as the painting deepens,
When we depend on the stars and the stories were written
Tenderness glistens and sparkles shower rainbows
Is it there we sit and wait for a pot of gold?
Yet, is it a waste of effort asking who knows?
Oh, God, it\'s a story of another poet failing miserably alone
When help is needed and shown in a peculiar fashion
Words are very fitting for one place and also another
A voice has called the new age of poetry with a passion.
Pages are turned but settled in the dispute of beauty
A love affair caught up between 3 lovers who lost.
where sexual tendencies permitted the extraordinaire
transmission diseases went wild with lust but at a cost.
So my pen is put to bed as it sleeps softly in thought
Falling into places where sound is visible and new
Imagery is the fascination for a life of writing
Where poems always seem true.
In the dreams, I see the perfection of minds rarity
Twirling around singing and dancing the night away
Dreaming and thinking about changing the life of poetry
To make sure it will be here to stay.