Aids poems bring the best collection of short and long aids poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great aids rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these aids poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on aids are here for you.
AIDS-will you let me live? You will live, if you remain faithful to your spouse, you will live , if you avoid sexually depraved activities, you will live, if you leave morally permissive life, hedonist world, media, and society promote.
Sixties came and went, As the seventies rolled in I was born upon my mother’s breast Last of four kids, I was the baby of the family Seventies were filled of adventure, fun, and games Learning new faces and names
friends are someone.. who meet each other- to share joy and sorrow and celebrate happy moments together. here my friends-never I had the chance to see them face to face. we share a world made with the trust of god’s
Just say no to corrupt politicians, lying and cheating with their secret missions. Hugging the baby in the camera’s eye then stealing its lolly and watching it cry. Just say no to the corrupt EU, actually achieving what Hitler failed
We sure did love the lollipops, the cracker jacks, the Holloway candy sticks, the chocolate coated ice cream bars, and those tootsie rolls. We simply could not get enough of the pop sickles, the cool aids, and the soda pops.
I didn’t really notice her, to start with, A girl with too shaped hair and clothes beyond her years It wasn’t right, clearly not right Medieval in some respects An heir and a spare her task But a fairy-tale danced
I Wish Racism Would Die. I Wish It Would Go Away, Because Racism Is Like A Disease, And People Make It Stronger Everyday. Why Are People Hating Each Other, Because Of The Color Of Their Skin? To Me, Color Ain’t
It goes without saying; soon the cow barn will be full & men quite drunk, Women busy preparing to feed stomachs and give one of their own away, To who, doesn’t it matter? Old, too old or extremely old, a
Through all the rank smells of the city’s shore The ocean’s breath says ages of being. Dark blue depths, salty finned life, and much more, Shifting of arm hair aids my eyes seeing My ancestors rising out of the vast
Across dark thresholds sleep my dormant dreams, Inspired by aspects seen while I’m awake, Epitome of sweetness, my love seems, That nectar bees seek earnestly to take; A flower bloomed from primal buds of May, And nurtured in the sun,
There’s an angel that lives in the sky He has strong black wings And knowing eyes He comes to the earth to capture souls He shows no mercy He takes both young and old There’s another angel that lives in
Behold the scenic grandeur This amazing waterfall creates Rushing down from heavenly heights Like a stream of milky nectar . Emerging from secret springs Hidden in the heart of hills It brings abounding succor To the landscape year after year
To be lost in a world of crying confusion; bewilderment, fear and drug induced delusion. The world around you just comes and goes, drifting through fog and dense falling snow. Every beat of your heart sends a dizzying pulse of
Love, what a beautiful addiction. Drug, with no prescription. Throughout life it is used, limits easily abused. Aroma, oh so sweet. Looks, sometimes a cheat. Yet, we take what we can get. Our greatest asset. With drugs come side effects:
Something happened I was just looking in your eyes Then a tear-drop fell to my surprise My heart ached watching your lonely cries I knew then I could not say something that replies My angel fell out of the heavenly
Truth is I’m just another woman forced to face The crime of a close friend Truth is where I come from everything is allowed except peace From hookers and hoes to junkies and crack babies From victims turned murderers To
Billions of billboards and floods of commercials Bombard and pollute young minds and our values Where social vices overwhelm visual material So, what are standards of beauty and virtue? Is beauty really only skin deep, let the young ones judge.
Feathery snow on tree bough gently shades, the closing dark, wind through silent oak, shadow’s stretch reaching o’er the twilight glades an ever constant curdling chill evoke! Frozen cheek, bitter cold and deadly still lest fear betray the haven of
Travelling with along, stout dark man In the burstling city thoroughfare Talking incessantly about immediate enjoyment Of unnatural genre was of good old days, When we found ourselves shopping Delusion in cramped dimly lit economic pub Where the roaring music
Must I give you the chilled truth of dry winds till the fire reaches the backyard? The half-thumb was held by the wheels. Why you were pushing the hearse of a dead lie? Anonymus was the letter written by moon
Familiar looks, manners in sync, A slight acquaintance, a familiar hello, A warm smile and the mischievous wink, In you I see my good old fellow. Late nites and Long chats, Discussing life as it passed through, Somewhere amid those
O, dear Indus, the witness of millenniums’ History, traditions and culture You feed us with your sweet water And in your lap you us nurture You might be a mighty channel Of flowing water for the world On your course
I’ve got these friends called Sree and Pri They always make me Tulsi green tea A technical wizard that is Sree His yogi looks Deceive even me Always connected and never offline Sree always somehow Finds the time Meanwhile Pri
Cold night, shimmery light, A white lie to the white knight, Broken heart waving good bye, Shadows in the blue moon night. Melancholy in the milieu, And heart beats are drums in the air. In the deep dark night with
Evening wore a floral dress. Blue birds announced their departure opening red wings. You know them, buffs of night who would not wait for the moon to rise and I had nothing to hide. These tragic toes black with gangrene
I am quiet. I am the observer amisdst the chaos, I am beneath the shallow water, Below the deep oceans, Where solace and peace settle, Making the place their home. I am quiet. I do not need any justification to
Somewhere the truth lies still and frozen why can’t we measure ourselves? Measure the unseen depth? Not for gain, not for bliss. For inner tranquility, moving into the time where living and dead meet. The silhouette of circling hawk was