Sebastian Mari

We are all but the few the chosen…
The selected few from the Land of the Meadow;
Our Home of solitude and of pride.
We are … in the vines that we grow in
...

I met an Irishman on the road one day
His hat made of black leather and coat of brightest grey.
He wore an honest smile so I joined him on his stroll
He spoke of his travels and stories he seldom told
...

When first I asked her name
I didn’t know the voice behind it
But I loved her all the same.
When first I asked to hold her book
...

Slowly, they kept on moving
Following the road on the strength of their pain
And seeking on the face of their God.
Oh, Blessed is he
...

As the tenth sun of March graced us this year

We were greeted by a new smile that shone like light.
...

We are born, find ourselves
question the existence of man
and then we die.
Surely there's more, eternal truth
...

Upon reflection and her sorrowed mind
As she gazes through the paths lost time.
She gathers that her eyes loose sparkle
As she remembers the day that made her blind.
...

If words were roses
and sonnets the reddest of them all.
My heart be a garden
and my mind its invisible wall.
...

Of Saints to sinners
of fools and man
of jesters to a king.
Of music to chaos
...

Mine is a simple word –
Passion rolls not towards a bitter end
and be the study today so frightfully intense,
a good man’s loyalty is so very hard to bend.
...

Your hair
a reddened black cascade of a waterfall.
Your eyes
somewhat the prize to a twilight call.
...

From the orange glow of dawn
to the dying of the day.
From the height of the sparrow
to the nest he chooses to close his eye to lay.
...

“No one believes in magic, no believes in charity and very few believe in love. If I could through my writing, bring magic back to my world, put kindness in the hearts of people and help everyone learn the true meaning of love, then I’ll know my words fell to where it was needed. I wish that I’m understood; and may my words be the magic for your kindness and love.”

For all we know, we are all little pieces to the puzzle of civilisation. We are born, share in a life, try to achieve a certain tolerance of greatness and then we die. What is the actual purpose of mankind, no one seems to know. And its certainly not to further humanity’s already overloaded popularity. Is there a goal that everybody must reach to be entitled to be considered a player or is the world filled with illiterates all digging selfishly into a small pot of knowledge.
Learning is growing experience and no pot is big enough to hold all its power.
...

Heaven plainly smiled upon you
in the torrents of earthly rain.
Being the beauty that fills my eye,
a warmth by the mention of you name.
...

For the one who has stolen all the roses out the garden of my heart;
And if a sentimental, foolish poet could turn roses to rhymes,
here’s a few more to take his part.
...

When midnight sleeps
and the door of heaven opens wide;
often do you wake
trying to peek a look inside
...

As soft as a petal on a spring morn
as calm as jasmine blowing with the breeze.
As subtle as lilies dancing on a pond
as gentle as autumn’s first falling leaves.
...