Crippled poems bring the best collection of short and long crippled poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great crippled rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these crippled poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on crippled are here for you.
Oh Lord Almighty!! as I stand here crippled I complain to thee!! for making me crooked I look around, everything’s so nice You have filled me with only vice!! All trees flowers birds and bees Oh I envy all of
Life is like bubbles in drizzling rain So, transitory in nature but full of pain Broken chain in chain less chain All loss terms hurriedly into gaiTraged Without destination fast running train With intensity makes sane insane Bruises of heart
Life is like bubbles being made in summer drizzling rain So, transitory in nature but full of pain broken chain In chainless chain all loss termed into gain Without destination, fast running train With intensity makes sane insane Bruises of
Like a long forgotten melody wrapped in the mist of time bringing back all the memories good and bad alike you knocked at my door again and sent me reeling into the past long forgotten long lost, long left why
My home!!! my village!! My zone!!! My heritage!!! slowly transforming into a town as I pray and dream of it turning into a city, what a pity feeding the nation and suffering from kwashiorkor I see the tears of the
The nobles’ officials sigh, When the storm starts in the sky, For soon or later, It will be too late to blow the horn, All wealth and pleasures they enjoy, Puts them at the mercy of the peasant minority, For
I’m a little weary, I might need some sleep, Reality I’m exhausted and I can’t even speak. I am feeling fine, yeah sure I am okay, Reality, I’m screaming but being drowned out anyway. Yes I am excited and I
July 14th, 2015 I loved her an age before I discovered, That she was an imaginary woman, Dancing in the background of my reality, Smiling in my dreams whenever I dreamt, Soothing my grief whenever I wept Stripping the passion
Mrs Murphy stares blankly out through the backyard door The pigeon coop stands open since her children went to war Pals and chums filled the streets from Old Swan to the Albert docks The sons of the Liverbird leaving in
(1) She does not really sleep. She stands on the thin space of night, holds trees with her fingers and takes a nap. Sleep for her is a necessary illusion. Illusion, when becomes a necessity, tears anything apart. Here she
I guess the first real cuts were more than they needed to be the number of times I’d twirled the blade constructing stillborn balsa skeletons, stegosauri and plesiosaurs always amputating a rib or femur by accident, preferring to leave them
Walls slowly closing in So fixated on the seams of the tiles Till they faded Cold and wet Longing for warmth But the lights dimmed And the body left jaded The heat of the fast flowing blood Did not give
11 There is living after death, there is death before life, Ordinary living which is in scrambles of destituteness, Destituteness of idealism, of knowledge meaningful, of utter candidness. Dull realities of weeds, weeds of rampant ignorance, averment Of void words,
Up against her What best you can do Forget the last letter of her name To wonder how she would be an incomplete sigh; Double back thereafter, gently Rid yourself of the first letter … This will remind you Too
Faulkner writes at a New Orleans café Dust and floorboards with cockroaches Coffee like pain from the slave trade French rolls, wrought iron in the warm rain Spanish gables sigh like lost angels We are the immaculate children of Tolstoy
With all the affliction I lie here with my eyes closed And tears rolling down cheeks. My head throbbing with atrocious heeds and my heart burning with hatred for her. I want to forget all the pain she had left
prisoner of retribution, he was buried under a salt lake, elusive, his crotch, not far from stings of wasps, the blood spills, he would wonder how to catch the truth in black river, wrapped in imperforated causes, leaking with curses,
If you walk straight under the shadow of moon, to the salt lake death will blow a long whistle. Everything was ruined in war of words. There was no peace in the heart, even after meditation, the mind drove for
What is the gain to have a humble maid As a dweller of this heart adventurous? That every moment fondly craves to raid Untrodden meadows of her mind and trespass. The meagre passion, say I thee, then bores The lovers’
They can’t resist the Calligraphy, Like the Disney movies, all eyes & ears glued there, Yeah, they fathom the science behind it, But No! Listen to the hits they make, like boom! Can’t help but break dance, The comfort my!
Feeling a little more strong with his clothes all back on, Harry felt a bit more enthused. He didn’t open his mouth to ask what it’s about, But his mind was no less confused. Then they tied his arms with
A useless space between the sentences, ghastly story does not end in black and white. Again the heart cries. I keep on knocking on the doors and then return to blackness. Sometimes people become insects. Cockroaches, ants and spiders, weaving
A green smoke was rising to ferret out the elusive pain without body. I went in search of fidgety words to patch up the conflicts of flesh. Bold as Passiflora, Crucifixion was complete. Today a gift of obeyance will arrive.
Whenever, I feel tired and exhausted, From life’s monotonous routine, I go to my courtyard Theatre, On the enormous screen, Watching the free natural movie scenes, Projected by The Almighty Producer. The scenes change there with the passage, Of the
Lines on forehead are deepening. No signs of abatement of fire in our bellies. The hunger we inherited is only comforting the mouthless. Broken laughs. Strange bedfellows chopping off the murals from the lips. A body rots, stinks. Maggots fly.
One deep breath of what yet lies, Dream’s of shattered butterflies. For like myself their wings are torn, Silently broken they fly in mourn. Blade’s of silver shining in the light, Scarlet blood on my wrists, feels right. Flowing beads.
A rock becomes a philosopher. Refuses to move looking at the stars. Rogue shirts were walking on the clouds of unknowing. I wanted to remove all the clocks. Who was stealing the water? Secret of life? Impiety had undone the
I can’t forget to forget the world When your lips tenderly meet mine I can’t remember all my worries When those lips kiss me so fine That gentle caress of your’s Across my cheek Makes all my problems Look weak
For my distant special friend….. I mocked you often Whenever you said we are special friends I asked what does the word Special mean You never explained Now I know why I laughed at you my special friend Never realised
Our hearts have this huge corner Deep deep inside Vulnerable to the slightest hurts To every criticism, negativity or slight We build walls around it Of cynicism and pride It was tender long ago Now we cover it and hide
Friends and good books, Worth keeping always, No matter how one looks. Books offer an insight, To one’s life. Friends pick you up, Give wings to your flight. Books light the intellect, Friends too make your life perfect. With books you are
We speak like rattling rain And fumble through inhibitions Before we reach each other. I dip each word, in the inky darkness of my mind and hang it over the moon. And he, He glorifies the crescent Day after day