Disconnected poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of disconnected poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on disconnected are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
As a society, we have reached the point where vanity has overwhelmed sanity Where we prefer big beds instead of big hearts Where we aim to live in big cardboard boxes, hollow ones Where we choose to take shelter alone
It’s a funny feeling, being totally remote. No connection to the world outside. My world has shrunk down To the walls of my house, To the boundaries of my city. I know many people, But as far as I’m concerned,
It’s not the answer but the question that eludes us Leaving us no choice but to render an answer Without knowing the reason Like some sandy trail that the wind has obliterated In a vast and infamous desert Having nothing
Life just keeps ticking on sans any rancor so to say On face all seems perfect with core in utter dismay Apathy tried attempting and walls I built around Now jab at susceptibility my old despair compound Past zest needs
A girl of just 4 years old, Who lost her mother. The beautiful relationship was disconnected, Girl had nothing but to be disconcerted. She was depressed, But could not express. Could only feel disembodied, Of her abandon mother. Her feelings
A strong feeling but fading thought An internal battle of something that was lost The sadness sweeps across my body and heart It’s hard to accept I’m a memory, in the distant part But once I claimed your heart It’s
Turn the corner and you will find, some dark figures huddled together under the rains of words. In a fractured embrace. One chunk of floating pain falls on you. The assassin had come quietly. A song was knifed today. Turn
How treacherous Often memories could be. The ones I needed most, betray And those not, stay. Yes I am talking of poignant And ugly memories. Between the ticks of time, They take turns to torment me. Even in dreams, they
I ask you to bring many things When you plan to visit me I search for those expectantly Forgetting the speech of your eyes And miss your presence The glowing rainbows and the blue sky You created in my room
Such things are rare now: the smell of rain of preceding nights going stale. And the potted plants keep back the reek like memories as do their counterparts keep scarred holes— gaping blank like a blind eye— on the ageing
For the bird, I knocked the cage to set it free. My tryst, with a nightmare begins. It was me, dismembered in sour death where sorrow meets the sorrow. Now rising, now falling, the delicate frame on unseen wings beneath
After my final curtain call when the stage lights dim, what will life hold to see, at the end of my show when the ink has dried, what will become of me? Clutching crumbling pen between trembling fingers of a
Zola the Zebra lived far, far away and always had so much fun, with lots of friends they laughed and played and sang beneath the hot sun. At first, her friends were a little confused and thought her a curious
Listen that delicate one at the stream With the touches of rays at the shimmering cheeks That rhythming heart with troughs and the peaks With the waters of eyes and the emotions, cream Quiet is the drop and the orangish
A tribal instinct stops the nemesis: Spraying the blood-soaked, small foot prints on my chest; unlocking, I accept myself. Why contained anger of awesome ache over the periphery? Through the atrophied, black limbs – an elite infusion of trespassing knowledge?
The harmonious companionship is of no easy access Especially after many betrayals I’ve experienced as a witness From the uneasy feeling my tough disguises derive By whom the romantic elements are stolen from my life? Nobody can discard all world
Van Halen a young kid running the streets of California Brother Alex playing on the pots & pans In time young Eddie bought a guitar hoping in his heart he’ll go far Although from that scene many years had passed
There is a woman I love, I call her my sister We spent only two years, little time together Yet, as the time passed we grew closer On the first day in hostel, a late night conversation Soon turned into
When the night train leaves the terminal, It’s body cold as a corpse, It’s lights alive as chickens in The butcher’s cage, I sit bunched up in my Flea market shawl beside the closed windows. I play that game of
The week is nearly over and the nights are growing long, the verses turn melodious but the chorus names the song. The words sing out a message in the lines where they belong, the clock in the ticking corner is
To gaze at the gleam in your deep loving eyes, across the heavens I’d soar, to find the brightest burning star to warm the sweet face I adore. To you, I would give the universe, entire, just to see the
though moo cho yars older, i (bovine cuddly name = hay4four at aol dot com), could feign 2b a frat house bro by undergoing a facial augmentation – despite lacking dough unlike the multimillionaires here in lower merion, where a
One final leap from high solitude into city of dusk, takes you to presence of charred remains of a fallen god. A housewife moves in the kitchen to prepare a farewell dinner for the encounter of fatal descent. A paranormal
I gaze at the glinting red possession which is cemented into my palm. The shining red light lures me, The smooth touch delights me. A dark blinding shadow slowly peeks, handing the glossy fruit into my custody. “Have it, my
Blood was in season, on your hands. A staged encounter mauling the clouds. Into a hare, you put the lead with a roar of gun and sun wants his share. Beneath the honours lies the guilt of a ravaged moon.
Waiting, wailing, weeping! When..when..when ??? The expected turns out to be the unexpected!! What have I done? Why do I merit this award? Months and months of agonizing waiting… rewarded with a still- born! Only to have a heart torn?
It’s like breathing: At odd times you become aware – Not after jogging up seven floors Or escaping an accident With exhilaration, not regret, Those times are givens – Rather existing within a crowd In the audience before a play
I’ve contemplated sonnets long enough, And now I think I ought to have a stab; I’m not that sure about romantic stuff, But general this and that seems rather fab. Wordsworth’s general sonnets aren’t my thing, Although he’s written some
the winds are becoming numbing needles to my skin again. the whistling of the night is entering the day covering up the sun to my happiness. the bullying was a distant memory from my mind now fresh to my soul.
We all speak of love and loss But do we really know the cost? Not appreciating their presence, Till they have reached heaven. We all speak of forgiveness and forgetting. But are we even trying? The act of claiming to
Is that fair? Waiting to say all that when am gone Is this how friends be? ‘’He was an intelligent person Full of wisdom only he was careless’’ You say. Why saying that when am gone? Why? Why? Why? You
O you callous peaks of Siachen Cruel have been your whims illogical and insane beyond words To unleash your deadly powers on dutiful soldiers at work was not an act of bravado but the most condemnable deceit . Look every