Crucible poems bring the best collection of short and long crucible poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great crucible rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these crucible poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on crucible are here for you.
An average of 2,830 cubic meters per second of rich silt forms an alluvial plain that spreads outward in a fan shape from sedimentary deposit whereby ancient Egyptian civilizations got built adorning arid topography invaluable like the aorta pumping blood
Forged while in utero (the crucible concocting conception), the fluke of biology begat me – a happy go lucky boy, whose vulnerable uber travails susceptibly sprung sly as Tennessee Williams hip cat on a hot tin roof, where the faux
Her mere name piercing through my Ear Sets my heart beat to the rhythmic romantic tunes Needless to say my life has completely taken a U turn for Good ever since my intrusion into the mystique and fantasy filled romantic
The chemistry of hate changes in a thorn’s shade. I start digging out the past for a blind sun, for a qualified rejection. He was stranded in a death-row: the civilians were killed. Was a meditating Buddha with a bomb,
Yiruma The piano quietly drifts along, As another beauty quietly drifts from my life… The time is coming to an end, The song; I wish I had the words, To say… Goodbye… But the instrument has nothing written upon the
His stomach is full of pure rage, The heart is lacking What to do, When it all feels through? Should he chuck it all for a different slice of dissatisfaction, Or persevere , determining that circumstances will improve? Sometimes the
I don’t trust this calm, This serene state of now Clean and fair is fake, Bitter black holds my charm. Of course we’ll choose the light. Though I love you more on darker days. Burning, shining, crazed but real Pulling
In the silence of the blue ocean tides, As the water sweeps on the sea rides I feel you are with me; holding my hands, Walking slowly along the cold wet sands, Knowing that one fine dawn we shall meet.
Memories of old, flooding fast through my mind, some tinged with sadness and some, sweet sublime. A fireside reverie shared with eyes so bright, an audience of innocence and excited delight. The crackling logs on the fires of time, little
The king is dead! Long live the king! History of rulers is no different from ordinary mortals, The crowns and kohinoors travel from one head to another uneasier head. Emperors, Monarchs, Kings, Pharaohs abdicated By methods natural and unnatural, Thrones
Inside me there’s this unique unstoppable and ever-growing fear I cannot live without spitting a lie out of my mouth At first I think I’ll be saving my own skin , but it keeps on getting worse My lifestyle
It will be painful, generational. Hard to keep up. The old will resist fight the loss of their world. Change will be blinding, the fabric of civilization fraying turning to dust. Everything known will be obliterated. Humanity loses its identity.
I urge you, pry the quiet crimson open under the dying embers of the blood orange sky. Ragged words expelled in a breathless arrhythmic pause, coating the ridges of our raw and urgent tongues. We must intertwine, lip upon lip,
Broken from the inside out Pieces of my heart run through my veins Hurt and disappointment have broken my heart. I try to fit the pieces back together, as they no longer fit. I hide the hurt with a fake
When I perchance, did glance upon your face, But on intent, have sought to hold your hand, I might, on private times, claim that embrace, And scout for site where caring lips would land; So long as eyes can see,
Feet bite down And all around, the roar. Expectations are high Hands reaching for the sky. And yet my heart is still. Feet pounding, resounding Each step a moment in time. A memory begun Beneath the starting gun. And yet
A nebula rises unfazed after fission: after a fractured debate, greed crouching on the wrinkled noses of rugged bouncers. In remote history someone was burning itself out. A black eye surges forward, sings an ode to championship. Ankles swell up.
Wish I could edit life’s errors. Retrace my steps, reclaim All I lost, gave up on. I’d give my present knowledge To my younger self. Carry my youthful vigor for life, hold unto my experiences. My second thoughts I’d make
My aura shining around me enlightened by what’s inside me A diamond who needed polished got it, my eyes unblinded Thoughts and acts realignment dark nights I was found in Cages I was confined in but wisdom help me survive
The destination of life is same for all, Just the path gets contrasting as we crawl, A few reach the destination with comfort, And most reach it with a lot of tiring effort, In the end heads are high for
The Thing that helps me see… makes the world blurry. The Thing that makes me laugh…. makes me cry. The Thing that fixed me… is broken. The Thing that I try to show off… is terrible. The Thing they call
“O you woman! Why do you after all submit To who that ever hurts and hits, Causes you only sufferings Distresses are his offerings. And gives you nothing Except tongue-lashes And choicest accusations? What after all do you get From
I love the feel of raindrops, Fall on my face trickling down, In a liquid embrace, Gently wrapping me in. I see the blinding lightning, That lights up the sky, With a thunderous clap, Filling me with wonder. It fills
Alternately titled: arm ugh gut tin Aye dread getting undressing and getting washed even without spectacles that haint no mo’ six pack ab which nearly rock ribbed mid equatorial zone shape shifted into corpuscular blubbery ancillary physiognomy where aye wanna
Familiar looks, manners in sync, A slight acquaintance, a familiar hello, A warm smile and the mischievous wink, In you I see my good old fellow. Late nites and Long chats, Discussing life as it passed through, Somewhere amid those
Europe my realm and my prized possession, I instill in thee our novel ideals, for your feudal laws our conquest repeals. Our boisterous wind of emancipation liberates Spain from draconian inquisition. Of the proud Brit’s stupendous earning power, an Egyptian
December 25th /2013. My cherished woman, Without a face, Dwells in my books, And diaries, Without a stance; In my coffee cup, She swims And passes in my mirror, Without a trace; She wanders About In my veins, sings in