Is It Poetry
Blind The World
One more word or less, some one else has said.
Human being's that can't give pause,
our efforts now are vain.
Sadly now we go out to seek our fame and fortune.
Be it right or wrong, the same sad song.
Here their once were birds that came to sing,
their song we all could hear.
Blind I've been to see what we could never hold so dear.
Clouds we reinvent to feel the rain,
and sun set skies we see to help the pain.
How we came to let the moon rise now.
One more word or less such knowledge is ignored.
No one intervenes now I must go.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 January 1832 – 14 January 1898)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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