Begot poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of begot poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on begot are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Where did you come from? Every ancestor you ever had, had to beget with who they begot. If any link in the chain begot with someone different. If someone turned left instead of right. You’d not be here today. By
In his short spaceless life Discordant happiness plays foul, A missed chance heavy price demands. He sought another that never was for him As he feared his utter laziness And never spelt her adored name Before eastern Sun broke forth…..
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx, sans the third of nine children (and second oldest heir) Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks, asper his two most controversial publications titled The
Perfect hot white ceiling giving back planetary anger at persons and plants making a griddle of the city’s streetmap and challenging those afoot to not drown swallowed in their own sweat Opera singer enters air conditioned library cool and quiet
I have been wondering Ever since you left us, What were your thoughts That early morn? You were silent While you lay quietly on bed. For the past few months You had learned to Resign to your fate. Your wounds
Was busy carving out the white clouds like stanzas, unflawed. Now I begin to fall apart. No meaning was left in a drink. You could see only your image drowning in a scented charity. At last I am watching myself.
There are no haunted places, Just people haunted by pasts and presents. There is nothing not worth expressing, For no one has lived without falling. Not everyone can dream so celestial, For most people’s understanding is but elliptical. Not everyone
Our race against extinction. We all come from the same cradle. Though we think ourselves mature. Our childish and petty ways are truly obscene. We are products of our environment, fine tuned to fit the scene. Some are black with
Roses are Red, Daisys are Yellow, Violets are Blue, Auta is Black, She is fair Her hair, curly, When she flips it backwards, I feel this magnetic pull towards her. Her face, so clear and spotless, With blue eyes, In
The moon grasped my heart tonight! Like the glow of a burning lamp It gleams in a mantle of delight Beneath the clouds of misty damp Like a wandering eye that glances To every nook and corner streets A silent
I am shivering, tossing and awake Each lonely night is like a thousand nights Is this punishment for not being with you? I cannot endure the hours Of being without my partner I dread the night, the whole night As
What does tomorrow hold, what would the choices lead to, would there be happiness, or would we languish in misery? Times will never be same again, people will never be same again, one last look at the things getting left
You blessed my solitude, Like a heavenly melody. With the warmth of your embrace, You showed me eternity. My memories are made sweeter, With your presence. My life is now divine, Since you are so pure. You, my greatest truth,
The battlelines were drawn. While drinking the sun I set myself ablaze A hooded dilemma of his kindness starts boiling in chaotic dissonance. A backlash stops a self-search. Who am I and why do I belong in the spinning of
If Hope is the thing with feathers, perhaps Life is that stony thing, that stony Enigma. If someday, somehow, somewhere, I catch some glimpses of what makes a heart, a stone, and what makes a stone, watery before someone dies…
I see them each day on my way to global politics 201 years worn, moss filled with cracks along the armrests I can remember one day seeing, two lovers in those chairs surely their intent, to facilitate the couples conversation
Exhausted and homeless Without financial order Without security and acceptance She became an easy target He zoned in He reeled her in Empty promises He gave to her She almost lost herself In words’ entrapment She readied herself For life
Some people are capable of the most cowardly acts ever committed Of wounding a poor vulnerable homosexual’s body until he desperately cries his lungs out mortified Inflicting deep wounds of the flesh and then watching him slowly faint into unconsciousness
Life is but constant struggle Which one takes to eternal peaks It is the sound of soldiers’ bugle Which brings light to cheeks Hurdles may come to test Ego of a person to any limit Only those can prove best