Caskets poems bring the best collection of short and long caskets poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great caskets rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these caskets poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on caskets are here for you.
Knock knock whose there? He asked Me, the blind man. Came the response. And where from? Asked another, from the catacombs that covered years of deaths and solitude, in caskets of not so forgotten years. From the depths of reason
It was midnight moon cruising in the bedroom. I step aside in the depressed window, watch the overwhelming spillover. I listen, then do not listen to alien voices of bipolar beings, speaking Aryan, artfully in cryptic signs crunching the bones.
The elevator smells like a woman I knew for a day back when I wasn’t such a behemoth could resist the mouth-temptations of savor and texture it was a bar and I was under-age but no one spotted the guilty
Feels heavenly to have your shadows on my soul, Imaging you in me… Crappy reminiscent… Behold you so querulous, pretending to be so apprehensive. But not actually, I chuckled Am hoping yon weird nights to recur, Would
Thou art CLEOPATRA, the soul of Egypt, The river Nile maraudes to kiss thy’s feet, The shimmering heat of he Sahara glistens you, The great pyramids bow before you!! Thou art CLEOPATRA, Daughter of Isis, Goddess on Earth; The sands
Like ashes stacked in a jar of indifference tightly capped to mask a stench so cruel from cigarette butts worth riddance- you caused me self decay and dismal. You put me out like those cigarettes in an ashtray of cares
His eyes could speak tell that he will become strong but inside will be weak They sang the gaiety of innocence Felt the happiness presence His first steps were dangling with those little feet As if he was heading with
As I sit across and gaze into those beautiful eyes, Its all so pure, no pretense without any guise. A faithful alliance I see, A dedication that never deserted me. An individual who loved without reasons, A person who did
The green leaves of weeping willow,on the lawns, Blocking my sky view, The natural leaves’ curtains covering my bed room windows. But at least I can watch beautiful birds and butterflies Hopping and chirping on trees branches. A beautiful squirrel
Our tryst in time, a happenstance gone by, Went all so well and sweet, but very swift, My heart, in sorrow did nothing but cry, On rivers of its tears it’s now adrift; Short were those days, the sun made
The rain patters in monsoon night Its monotone no lullaby It’s not the moist air that chokes It’s not the bug that lurks In languor I long for you Darkness states your absence And the rain mourns it I seek
non compos mentis my monologue, non-believer will say, it was insult of salt, under the bark, white ants were climbing, boring into sap, kneeling, at war with yourself, disinheriting the loud blood, you want to thwart the murky ariel to
Years ago our forefathers had a vision That one day, their descendants will bear the title of their own To represent their ancient glory And value it at heart. Praising the mediums like our fathers did And ululating in procedure.
Emptiness is there Within the space Wherever you are Whatever your race Balance and harmony Within each other Cosmic ceremony Forever and ever Our own selves depend On our own thoughts Free it, your mind From unbalanced notes A healthy
Why are you packing up for final journey? I am not getting the signals from the stars through the amnesia. The moon will rise on the desolate landscape of broken dreams A shudder gives away. You always pursued incompleteness. So
Positivity, happiness, love, these Words you threw at me, expecting Me to grab on to them and connect. Expecting my instincts to take over, Expecting my soul to grasp onto them Instantly knowing, feeling, understanding Their nature, knowing how to
A walk in the woods. Thunder in the distance. Lighting dancing, edging dark clouds. Soft rain thru the pines. Boughs dripping in the pond. Birds sounding bird talk. Many languages to be heard. Frogs in the pond announcing their attendance.
I saw tombstones Some ornate , others plain. All had a story hidden Of fulfilment and emptiness. Death is a leveller And makes us realise All are equal Even if born amidst riches. The journey from cradle to grave Is
This heaven is a pretty maid living in the Dark Age, With minds of the moron, hearts of the fool, crawling into her cradle of tears lying in waste, And she smiles, emotionless clusters in full. As the bleak eyes
well past closing all the glasses dirty no one’s gone home despite the bruised air ceiling fans limping round the woman at the mic is no longer singing just making music erecting sand dunes it’s gymnastics on the stage they
Sitting at the edge of a bubble uncooled, trying to light an eternal flame of anonymity; counter the wrangler, one skull in each hand, of ancestors, you prepare for the crime of breaking the umbilical cord. Ostracized, you forge the
Gone are those days when We didn’t need to think about calories before eating. We didn’t have to plan everything in advance. We didn’t have to decide what to wear for a party. We didn’t have to check before speaking.
The crowing cocks, herald the dawn, The surging sun, signals the morn, The homing birds mark the dusk, A change in every phase, so brisk. Spring sets the country in bloom’ Summer swallows dispel the gloom, Autumn leaves the trees
Deep sorrows I, in solitude partake, While mirth we share, basking sweetly in bliss, Such times are when I hid grief for your sake, Or when engaged in emprise of a kiss; It seems that night falls every time you
A dented version of an old grudge, blackened lips with an elite song, your relentless search ends in a terminal shock, nursing a green wound. That anguish was still there, and the wild anger sprawled on hidden fractures, false teeth,
Harp strings over the woodland mist Such shiverings of endless prayer That never seem to say goodbye They only seek to keep you there, And steeped in woods of long gone days Of Summer green and Autumn sky Are dryads
It’s like breathing: At odd times you become aware – Not after jogging up seven floors Or escaping an accident With exhilaration, not regret, Those times are givens – Rather existing within a crowd In the audience before a play
One day, I was sitting alone with compassion, Studious thoughts were flowing in my mind rigorously, That I was alone in this world, Nobody is there with me, how can I achieve my dream, Hope that Love should always be