Cheap melodramas play out in so many live's.
Recounts feed in stories and
in pitiful poems with nihilistic lies.
Equipose is dropped,
to set in place vibrant hollow calls,
minds possessed by illusions,
meaningless recounts of falls.
What is it in so many that they
grieve in words and prose?
How is it in our world of beauty,
poets write like no one knows?
Nietzsche said it well, 'Few are chosen,
the rest are the bungled and the botched.'
Today it is a vast sea of frozen
languishing poets in a knot.
I am tired of dark glitter, and misleading tales,
mediocre gossip and the echoed wails.
Let all begin to see, that imagination is reality.
Start to recreate, of what we will not hesitate.
Stop the sadness of these days,
by bring gladness and spiritual praise.
Perhaps again we'll find it true,
that we are One,
and each moment is a new!