Downfall poems bring the best collection of short and long downfall poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great downfall rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these downfall poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on downfall are here for you.
A short poem wondering on the aspects of fame. A rock-star husband leaves childhood sweetheart, his wife, during his heydays, only to find that destiny often misleads, when things have to go wrong. Those loving, beautiful eyes of yours.. Oh,
Let’s paint these walls red, With the blood of our dead. Of the lost and wounded, the sad and depressed. Let’s paint that chair green, With the leaves of the trees. The trees cut down, every day, week, month, year.
We live amongst a sea of façades, Of faces gone faceless and drowning In beliefs that we, the fallen angels Have somehow, some way become Gods. We live in a world where on city streets Litter becomes its own kind
World of danger … as I think.. Think of the deep bluish lake rich in water that seldom quenches the thirst of the masses who can never dream of drinking water to the brim of their mouths for the liquid
Look into my eyes when you’re close to me: I want to lose myself in deeper waters than the sea, To drown me in heavens more distant as the farthest star, To feel that finding myself is not something impossible!
Emotional states of a neurosciencE Match another person’s spectruM Personal feeling as soft as snowdroP Associated with individual’s utopiA Teacher and learner both altruisT Home for those homeless, a flourisH Yarn of compassion and sympathY
Plain steps Grey concrete smooth polished to look Like marble But they are not; nothing in this courtroom is real I came here a Free Man Under licence and bonded high, but free all the same I chose to face
It stormed all night rattling teeth and windows the small tribe of cats sheathed their claws for once crept into human beds drawn incapable of love to the safety of something larger a fleshy barricade to take the blows something
DARREN ROMEO is not your typical magician there is magic in his voice, there is music in his magic kinda like Las Vegas meets Broadway and everywhere he goes he steals the show probably ‘cuz of his magnanimous spirit and
His stony rampant presence swamps my gut with frozen fear, rearing embittered bones. Forsaken by my angel, away she flew when my favourite shadows died now I am alone with quarrelsome bladder and skittish quivering bowel. The wicked ogre proclaims
S- Sorry people were screaming cries. C- Calling out their loved ones in havoc. R- Rising atmosphere was getting worse, as in better. E- Evening goes by in fast time. A- As the high notes of help cannot be heard
Nothing I shall do, to be a wisher; No wishes to make. Never mind,my friends, The”Making Wishes” prose won’t run so long. A wish precisely persists as a wish all along, Until I’m propelled by the blowing wind of wish
As I ponder upon thee, The future to foresee, Nigh that shore, was meant to be Since days of yore, mine destiny, Waiting to embark, for many before, Hating, dropped and left each oar. And what would be this living
One crisp scaffold. Was it possible that it became generous? For the street which turns the mutation into xenograft. I pretend to be which I am not for fear of dying daily or sleep no more in the lineage of
Good evening, class. Tonight we will discuss the urban environment of American cities, the neighborhoods, hoods & enclaves Of a collection of people, some who step carefully over glass- covered sidewalks & play in Needle-filled parks, who avoid the homeless
Today I decided that I would try, To remember when I was a child, Sometimes bold, sometimes shy, And most definitely totally wild. I thought I’d choose to live today, As if I was very young, To see the world
There are some things I have come to believe. Believe me when I say, I am not deceived. Sometimes the good die young, and never receive. Unfairness exists, and persists, though ill conceived. Sometimes everybody gets pushed around, or cheated.
The effigy wouldn’t burn whoever heard of an incombustible baseborn? we dragged it through the street its clothes torn off carefully painted features smeared in puddles we still remembered who we hated but this dummy of bound bamboo and straw
Let it be, a dawn prayer, dripping with fantasy intercepting the strip-search of soul tempting a mad psyche. The sleeping volcano was going to celebrate, put the sign on. Perfectly shineless hands will raise the banner to donate kidneys, eyes
Linked arms, looking into the future, my daughters, In jim-jams, bought from Sunday markets, Off the Thame Road, and your beautiful young faces. This picture of a world I no longer have, imbued With all the scattered sadnesses of time,
Code of the veil was darkening. You were searching for an unwritten message in bandanna. Rot was setting in flesh. Sludge was becoming a stone for an unmoving stream. The talks had failed. Hand-grenades will explode in shouts later on,
Space is occupied by space, strength and vitality, a sphere of activity where space is shaped. The mind is preoccupied by thought, identification of process and an abstract concept of time represented and labelled. Mind is a reflection of past,
One Summer’s night I sat alone, As I had often done before, Enthralled by moonlight dancing, hither thither on my chamber floor. I heeded not the mournful wail of hunter borne on feathered wing, That rent the air: a false
I know I bring you satisfaction. Mad but you’re masking. Packed? I’m unpacking. You want to leave. Best believe it won’t happen. Hold on Ma. Let’s breathe and work backwards. What is the battle worth? Your tears coming after words.
Living with purpose, loving with intent, Meaning what you say and saying what you meant, Believing in yourself when others disbelieve, Keeping your eyes open when the others cannot see. Hoping when you’re hopeless, hoping with your heart, Finding your
What is it’s essence? Is it like a vulnerable, Hemingway-portrayed skiff being tossed about by changing waves of feelings, urges, yearning? Is it like a spoilt compass, it’s nervous needle half-trembling, rotating in illogical, unscientific, fickle-minded fashion, unable to be
The road I had taken Is the road of uncanny hour, Darkness of gloom beheld by lonely church spire Walks with mine fragile feet in most mystic manner. Steps that I had started in most casual space Have no anxiety
She exists in the body, a visual myth Materializing out of stone A solitary figure carefully etched Into the mind’s eye, breathing Brooding, testing the air for its secrets Tasting the wind for things to come She is to my