Chaste poems bring the best collection of short and long chaste poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great chaste rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these chaste poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on chaste are here for you.
A poem writes my name. I am trembling on paper like salt. Flowing like moon on the black wound. The lamb and the skull. I know the saint invented by masses. You need a fresh awakening. A vastness from nothing
How to begin the journey of truth? it was moving away from all paths. No concrete answers were there, questions loomed large, a moaning confusion reigned. I moved inward, to open the door, I had to talk to my poems.
I belong to the song of the sun Humming the chants of flame I breathe. The sea rests in me motionless With its endless depths I think. Storms of being, clear the chaos Emptiness of chaste silence I hear. A
The flag unfurled, and from within, fresh rose petals Jauntily floated down like gently melting snow flakes. Soon, even the smell of freedom dissipated, losing its Way into the winding lanes and by lanes of our lives. Tell me, which
”You live in a queer world of dreams, Mr. Ahmed Turning odd imaginations to mere fancy words Bejeweled by baffling metaphors and similes That one mightn’t get the hang of with ease Why don’t you eschew the pesky rhyme rule,
Let’s be swans in another life, Stand in peace side by side. Touch one another with eyes, Look chaste and princely white. Purity we will symbolize, When we spread up to rise, Become envoys from the skies And sing together
Today I want to take a lethal dose of black lips, confronting the killer on contract. Time dithers to escort. May be a cold-blooded murder of a handful of sick shadows will give a transparent memory. Planting a sad kiss
This bonded fear bids for power, Will I destroy myself in valley of puppets? War in dreams, of sins and morals of masked pretentions wears me off. Time rolls violently near the periphery, before it flies away. One chaste run
When my self , apart roams , My conscience recalls madam Marcelene Gomes. My teacher at St. Bartholomew’s school, Who taught us the virtuous rule. A fine and devoted teacher, Humanity and spiritual preacher. A woman of strict conduct, Employing
There once was an imp whose appearance was vain, his behavior was foolish, even his speech and imposing mannerisms were maimed! From those eastern cannibalistic lands afar he and his kind had once been blessed, indentured to serve the superlative
Audacity to live with your demons, putting up a fake love belief, who was the time, of that dark night? Distinctly alive to what I was not just putting up the shades of death into nothingness of peace in war.
profiling the divine phallus on terraced shrouds of fault the dilemma of arcane notation starts for that succultent rumours, emotively torn asunder, a green room becomes epiphanic, the voice was gone with black sun; buried onto neck in the drenched
Shedding the wholeness of negation you arrive: fear was sweeping the floor when smoke screen of love was hung on blue morning, you groped for a hidden coin, lost in the woods of mania. Distinguishing a chaste word, without thought,
Twined in time and silken shadow Bathed in light and blinded there Lost in rhyme on greenest meadow Confusion, sadness, a cross to bear Can time make end this never-ending? Can future lost e’er be replaced? Can past distort the
Urn was carring the snow unmelted like the soul of night. It was a very strange winter like araucaria puzzle. Who was dragging the evergreens over the chaste cliff? All the incogerent roots have broken the placenta for new gods.
sometime I watch the fear held aloft by you, possessed, you try to protect yourself from you in vain, very thirsty, white hydrangeas on your lips tremble, exhaust their need for clouds in blue eyes, pale fountain gives up tumult
Was it a summer storm of sexuality? Only the chaste statue stood in threads, and then went down the cuticle with nipple rings. The demand of namelessness was rising in the dim shadows of brisk tones. To step down from
A crooked slanting moon shifts the eye comes under the chaste tree and washes the tainted victory. Wolves start howling at the tomb of unknown martyr, man-eaters recoil on the sugar island and talk about destinies, A mourning crowd walks
At the end of the thought was sadness. When temple lies broken a little white lotus comes up on the tranquil lake. A cute word enters the lone voice, stands down, collapses, retreats into silence. A chaste tree becomes a
Waiting for a chaste bread, whole life under the moon, to speak off the inconsistency of happiness, with a monologue of a needle in eyes for a madness of sublime verse. Canoeing in a frozen lake for a stranded rose,
It was a taxidermal view thousands of fawns on the lake. Can you handle the die-off of the whole truth? I have nowhere to go. Genes are turning on, turning off. Bare hands holding the bruises. Hungry, but cannot eat
It was a slant love. Back to back, lips to lips. Lethal and dark strong yet delicate like spider’s web. A dark side of the moon sending conflicting signals to bacilli- of dirty lane, pink and blue. My pug licks
In your eyes I have seen the fear Of the silence that follows death. Un-erasable, un-quiet-able silence. Of the loneliness that ensues And the realisation – That the dead will never return. That no matter how earnestly you try Conversations
It rained heavily last night, And the pillow got wet, A sleepless night, a painful night. Don’t you see! Her scars and her swollen eyes, Happiness turned into remorse, And the stream of enthusiasm changed its course. Just one moment,
Walking through the orchards and dreaming as the soft summer wind comes lifting the scent of orchids in the air… well I’m all smiles today as last night keeps repeating its self in my mind I can still hear you
The deceased has 2 cusps of lid Not quite drawn down over the eyes – I wonder if they are peering askant Into the afterlife! Pale rouge belies The flaccid cheeks; pertinaciously hid The 90+ years he once was ambulant
The successful man has talent. Talent, perhaps developed, perhaps discovered. And so he works, to become better. The successful man has money. Money to fund his talent. His talent, which will lead to his success. The successful man has friends.
In Biblical times there was a youngster name David who killed a lion and a bear. Later on, he also killed a terrorizing giant and became the second king of Israel. My oldest brother never became a king, but he
Blood and bones become qualification watching and being watched. Eyes in introspection incubation waking the black dawn. Anguished blank stares, after dispossession collapse on the hills in confusion – umpteen times. Ontogeny repeats filial love after parental loss. Monofloral we
Black Death plaque but too many dead bodies For a grave so they shipped the sick and Suffering away to a little venison island called Poveglia…screams could be heard across The foggy water to the mainland in mass Hysteria…well and