An old Poem rediscovered.

So many beautiful pieces.
I believe the heart of a poet is lit,
By the heat of the sun on one side,
And the other cooled by the moon,
And poetry is,
What comes from their soul,
As they slowly freeze/cook,
Over and over and over,
Again.

peace

A Responce to Gulnaz

Some folks,
Hold fast to,
Their pain,
Like,
It's a blanket.

Sore comfort,
That harsh fabric,
Covering ones eyes,
With only,
The bad things,
Mad things,
And hurt.

There is too much anger/hate/fear in humanity and I fear it bodes ill for the future.
peace