Conformity poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of conformity poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on conformity are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
I am left dangling between Conformity and Freedom So… What do I choose from? The Damocles sword or the Carrot? Cognition or Intuition? Accordance or Independence? What do I chose from? Existence or Living? Submission or Expression? Precision or Exaggeration?
There we met, at street seventy seventh; my friend who’d bowed down with altering features, and me with my clothes getting narrower. We could not find, in this chilly present, a tale to help us recline on the pavement’s stone.
Imagination is the only true dimension; Somewhere which we can form an invention of perfection; Without these facts there is no way to escape our own three dimensional perception; We all dream inside the fourth into which there is no
When I walk out in broad daylight, I am immediately handed with “Stand up and fight” brochures, persuaded to download the Vithyou app, begged to join self defense classes to combat the raging thirst, of uninhibited audacious beasts. I am
While aversely obliging decadent demands of the reigning, endorsed affluent, an internal voice howls interposingly loud and insists I really shouldn’t: “pitiful, weary worker, Coerced, uncaringly ordered, and damned by upper class rules, will you ever tire of being a
She falls in love with you the way you portrait yourself.. She falls in love with all the fanciful words you used to describe her She falls in love with you whenever you tell her that she has a virtuous
Dear You, It’s been a long time since we spoke, I’m tallying the days since you’ve gone, Leaving me alone in this one-windowed skyscraper. The pages are blank. The ink has dried. So here I am, thinking out loud, Hoping
THE Man thought in the dark… of mass derailments of bank assailants of pleading beggars’ eyes of polished politicians’ lies of toxic chemical dumps of reclusive addicts’ slump of repulsive battle sounds of trampled sacred grounds THE Man thought in
Love what a magical word.. When comes in mind it changes everyone’s world. Sometimes i wonder why we say it magical May be its the power which make it mystical Its the supremacy that make anyone perceive That he can
The shimmering summer sun Sets on the distant horizon Setting ablaze In a shimmering heat haze The careless cumulous clouds Aglow with crimson incandescence Distant twinkling stars Awake in the turquoise twilight sky Mysterious worlds Afar and on high The
Hey you, who reside in horizons fleeing from my steps! How could I pluck out and gather winds from your lofty trees? Each time I climb mountains, I find an inscription registering a blow of your old perfume and a
My strength,my powers I can now do anything, whatever I wish I can even strive conflicting waves of life I will use my power to averse bad things My strength,my powers. I will use my powers to help others I
Distance was increasing in spewing rage. I yearned for a solitude of desert sand and rocks away from musty tongues and eros. Counting my failed attempts to reconcile with exits and slant hopes. Like an eclipsed moon plying over the
Cake and custard, Bread and jam and mustard. Yum yum yum, Filling up my tum. Nice chocolate muffin, Big balls of stuffing. Yummy yummy yummy, My round tummy. Bourbon biscuits and custard creams, Sweet jam donuts bursting at the seams.
Conceived in love’s folded wings: I sit and watch him from the next table – fair-haired and impish, he swings his sturdy little legs. “Don’t fidget, darling! You’ll fall off your chair…” The words should have come from my mouth.
Victories out of lost battles… Soundless sighs of unwelcomed past… Past that tried to travel to future… Future of those who were busy… Busy with their lives… Lives they meant by dreams… Dreams out of their sleep… Sleep that never
Just unbound, the death rate. Red roses had no qualms. Numbers, unapologetic, they die or commit suicide. Death had no tombs. One by one they cross the stream, sinking half, floating half in a cynic system, heedless, emaciated, eyes looking
Is it really ‘just how it is’ in the world these days? Too fast, too bright, too hyped. With an insatiable attitude of me, me; me gratification. And there is always so much noise. People in cars, people in trains;
Tan riding pants, old big strong leather boots, Wears the man who sits staring at ashes and coals, A look of confusion, of loss and of grief, Written on his face for generations to come. Barren ground, in a drought
Through the perils of human bondage, through the strife of life’s journey, Entrapped and enmeshed in the tangled web of human existence, I scream at the top of my lungs- I AM FREE. Walking the path of life Embedded with
Happy to be alive I could not be happier to live in these great times And surviving another year to live this life with awesome friends like you guys Blessed to be the uncle of such beautiful kids who are
May the best day of the rest of your life begin today May all those yesterdays that sought to destroy you be captured May all your yesterdays that meant you no good be found guilty as charged May all your
I write from the soul Yeah I am the corner stone They disowned A lion with an elephant’s heart, so misunderstood Whatever pain life brought I withstood So I am dressed up looking real photogenic It’s not schizophrenic I am authentic
Ask Van Gogh why he painted; A lunatic left at his own devices His grey mind sucking colors from the world into a canvas. Each rub leading to liberation from the known world The thick paste transforming a canvas; Into
Something went wrong Something changed Where’s the sweet song? I’ve become a monster of pain. I can’t even see myself I’m that affected My mind’s now as small as an elf’s My heart…ejected. You won’t understand what I went through
The dangerous chainsaw of destruction, the damp and musty cemetery of cruelty, the dreaded dead drug of desperation, the dusty dirty crossroads of determination, the hollow eyeball socket of fear, the mysterious lake mist of hatred, the mindless needle of
A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness of delusion; wants to decimate the infamous rotting image of man, shining everyday in lush damaging gossips. A perfect imperfection of treachery to attack the