Comiting poems bring the best collection of short and long comiting poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great comiting rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these comiting poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on comiting are here for you.
Committing crime has two sides Rich or poor is no exception Reasons may be plenty some may be for gain some may be out of pain greedy may escape punishment Genuine may suffer punishment suffering due to punishment fades away
the hoof is on the other neck the herd keeps worrying about thinning itself bulls and bellwethers abound the dogs have been put to sleep careless owners having lost their ownership their bones are scattered across a shallow pan of
When you visit a temple, could see scintillating sculpture Attention of your eyes, easily it may capture Sculptural forms of women, that shall grace, Standing of the ancient arts, apparent to trace They were cultural motif of celestial women Delightfully
Eternal is this uninterrupted existence An intangible spacious continuation Past, present, future ‘s relative persistence Time is inalterable and of limitless duration Mankind is entrusted to occupy this infinite space Some manage time accountably, others, who can tell I ask
Gunshots in my breakfast sirens swirling the rim of my coffee cup with blue hypnotism dressed for work and away morning air statue still dust of weeks on the candy colored cars moon is full above the rug store a
She was so naïve roving the boat across the stream The flow so smooth and even – life looked a dream Seldom failed to thank, keeping it tidy, her lovely boat So steady and strong, like soul mate they were
Want skin as clear as the pearls you wear Garnier’s Blemish Balm shall be your savior Pull down those dark spots, marks and repair Every skin problem with a dab of BB cream Dreams dance in your mind of lips
Life alone is a desolate reign, feel no remorse, no fear, no pain. Dark lonely days and endless nights with no chance of living, or more pointless fights. My reasons, pure and simple. A growing need with mouths to feed;
In dreamland the fairytales are in danger.The dream meanies are on the loose.They have scrambled Humpty Dumpy and they have kidnapped Mother Goose. So meet me in Sandusky or somewhere in between it’s a covert operation so come by submarine.
Oh! It’s just a Clock. Oh! These are just the mechanical sticks. These are not like my arms, They move all the time. And I look at them all the time! Yes Time! Time! They define time. Oh…what is time??
This night, the moon shining at the window There are some noises tonight Tonight there are some noises to build love There are some noises tonight Not all angels look alike, not all, my love! With some there’s nothing left
What is it? Why is it? Is it a desire of something wrong, something bad? Is it a desire of something we shouldn’t have. Why do we desire things we shouldn’t have? Who says we shouldn’t have have it? Who
The way rapists minds have taken shape- A girl is to blame for her own rape, To these animals so lecherous What are we girls-strictly diurnal creatures? Rapists say,“Girls can’t step out at night, A girl attacked should quietly allow
Shylock and Portia, in a court-scene, One to shed blood, and the other Not to shed blood, on one and the same condition, To be true to the court, in favor of justice, On rules and regulations, against Antonio, A
Her voice is an awkward drawl among the manifold chatter, the pitch a bit too high to even assimilate in the uniform blather. Her skin is one too many shades darker than the general throng- a constant and incessant reminder
A Teenage girl with lovely eyes Dragged from every corner of boys! First user free… Grown like a tree! The taste in dating continued The committed mistakes are mounted! The body has become decayed Heart beats counted the day! Log
The Legend of Procris and Cephalus. based on a painting in the London National gallery “A satyr mourns the death of a nymph “, painting by Pierro de Cosimo Who is this maiden sleeping here This beauty she is dead
Sitting by the riverside, As I ponder upon, The best times spent, How I wish those moments, Those endless talks, With the most amazing folks, Could be relived once again, Just as the river flows by, And the bush aside
Gone beyond extendable territories, Raging past the fierce wilderness, Words were never spoken, The time was never mentioned. People almost do things: He almost reached, She almost left, They almost gave in, We almost failed. Almost will not suffice, It
Let me go first in the cave to see the hollow-eyed, bird-face, my ancestor, relic of reclusive committment, eaten by hierarchical grass, inch by inch. Calories burn to free the bones from the green pond, beached, skinned and fished alive
Walking through the twilight between reality and myth Stepping in the shadows of cross and monolith Chinese whispers running through religious verse Fairy tales told from baptism to hearse Children kneel, hands clasped with bowed heads Praying for angels to
That satanic streak of tireless undressing of a hapless monarch. Wings were gone. Cannot fly across the tree of hypocricy. A footmat for the suicidal jump from the elegant hierarchy to grainy lies. Why are you turning ungreen? You will
Through the stormy desert Your thirst staggered for days, And ends up sipping Fresh experiences as consolation. An ocean of memories inside heart Constantly combust like wild flames, Yet seems so peaceful Like the rough skin of an extinct volcano.
The Singapore-schooled child Is bonsai-born to perfection; His hair doesn’t grow wild; His mind has no inflection. He is just the rare inquiline His islanded government ordered For in his rinsed head is recorded A rhyme: toe the line or
Now, I like walking in the rain, but I hate lightening and thunder. I like the fragrance of the soil, but why this yucky mud? I wonder. I prefer raincoats to umbrella, and rain-boots to match and pair. “Bare feet
Flying through the clouds of an agitating sky she was landed on the shore of despair. Unknown of the tyrannous rapter the angel became wounded by his erroneous desire. Following the winds of fallacy she got lost among the devils.
‘Cede yourself to me, And you will never be alone again. You’ll be revered. Adored. Treasured. But you must give yourself to me- A willing concedes’, Fiend allures. My conscious says acutely ‘Don’t listen’ And for an instant I don’t
Give me something to chew, a savage numbness is engulfing my brain. Water level was rising and the time of rented happiness was over. Pheromones were showing true likeness in hate, violence was brilliantly portrayed and death was hideous. Attachment