The Fine Art of Poetry

Poetry is fine art;
It is made up of lines;
Lines that draw pictures in our souls;
Pictures of fine art;
Art that we appreciate.

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Swept off her feet

So he swept her off her feet
And she gave her soul
What did he really do
It was she that lept

So he swept her off her feet
And she got possessed
What did he really do
It was she that let

So he swept her off her feet
And she fell in love
What did he really do
It was she that fell

​Grateful — August 2017

So I made a new friend
Not by accident
There was something to give
Gratitude

I am grateful
You are faithful
I did’t have to ask
Lover

There’s stuff I need to learn
Some where I’ve got to be
That I learned ’em
That I got there

Thank you

My Narrow Point of View

Until you have broad acceptance of your ideas you have a narrow point of view. That’s the way she tries to make me think; that the world has moved on from that which is now tagged archaic — old. But since when did principles become old in the sense so as to be regarded as irrelevant? It is not in their nature to ever go out of fashion. But it is in human nature to tag and re-tag ‘things’ as it pleases her; to redefine them according to the evolution of her conscience: to make new rules. But principles over rules, if you want to be truthly happy.

Grateful — June 2017

We’ve come to half the year
We’re still here
Not by might or strength
It’s because you’re there

Hell wanted me prey
Like she knew nowhere to stay
But she had to fail
For mine was not her place

We’ve come to half the year
Tomorrow is blessed
Not by might or strength
It’s because you’re there

Thank you, thank you
I have a say
Thank you, thank you
‘Made a way

It’s because you’re there
It’s because you’re there

The Eyes of God

When you look
though the lens of a camera,
your sight
is blinded
to all but that which the lens leads you to.
Except
where the lens through which you look
belong to the eyes of God.
The eyes of God,
they see all;
they see everything in every way to be seen.