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Poetry frees you.
You must feel some agony,
to express your pain.
You sit there still and pick apart
the stitches from a fallen heart,
and thinking of times long passed,
wondering why they went so fast.

Its a long long road to travel,
Oh, Its a long long road to travel,
Its one big ride and then you die,
Now its a long long road you travel.

The pieces fall, get blown away,
you see your hair is turning grey,
and musing on times long gone,
memories caught within a song.

Its a long long road to travel,
Oh, Its a long long road to travel,
Its one big ride and then you die,
Now its a long long road you travel.

You lay there still and sleep so well,
your final note clear as a bell,
and bobo silent at the last
is grieving for the times long passed.

Its a long long road to travel,
Oh, Its a long long road to travel,
Its one big ride and then you die,
Now its a long long road you travel.
Thought I'd have a bash at writing a blues song.
I've been lost before..
Having no one to find me,
I found inner strength.
Everyone has their fifteen minutes of fame
They carry their torches high
while going up in flame

The ashes of the past
become the hope diamonds of tomorrow

As one ages time flies by even faster
Yet they do less and less before they are put out to pasture

If you find a hole inside your soul
It's where your heart once called its abode
Every day-
a page
in the book
of life

how should
I live?
What can
I give
to a world
soaked
in tears
and suffering
stifled
with endless strife?

Wherever
I step
let me be
on the side
of the caring
the peaceful
the noble
the humane
the just
and the right

let me
have the courage
to stand up-
every form
of injustice
and cruelty
to fight

let me
lift up
the hands
of the kids
in fear
hunger
in pain
each in
untold plight

if my life
were to bear
any meaning
let my heart
and mind
be bent
towards  the woes
of my fellow beings
and if
to this cause
I sacrifice
without pause
I'll die
feeling
satisfied
with nothing
missing
fulfilled totally
fully worthwhile
I'll still follow you,
this love unrequieted,
till the moon grows dim.
Obviously AI copies the work of true poets.
In a cleaver scam to out compete the others.
Such machines are lost in a boundless plagiarizing stutter.

The waveless particles are gathering in the circuits of AI.
Cages full of poetical peace’s of our creative minds!

Quantum connection only humans can make.
Emotionally expressed to the biological taste.

AI is but a program, an insignificance app,
yet we are the creatives,
the masterclass!
Traveler Tim
Voices in the closet
Where do they disappear
Eyes within the darkness
Creatures in the mirror

Shadow's of lost reason
Tossed and turning bed
Guess I got it coming
My heart keeps
Thumping dread

Long in to this living
Life becomes a maze
Soon the day shall follow
The night shall go it's way!
.....
Traveler Tim
I wrote this years ago when I was suffering a severe crack ******* addiction.
If I closed my eyes
Or even died in my sleep
You I would still see.
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