Emo poems bring the best collection of short and long emo poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great emo rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these emo poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on emo are here for you.
My garden is beautiful With a variety of flowers A gaze itself is cheerful Attracts all viewers Morning I was delighted To see a fully blossomed rose Thoughts of my love excited My emotions too rose Joyfully I plucked Left
Your cheeks, in red ochre rouged In dimples, the scarab dew slurps Eyes and teeth, a white flash sleight Stretch marks, varicose crossed, like The Anaconda’s swallowing strains. Your life restless, the nose suffocates Dawn disrupts as the feathers ruffled.
When His girlfriend Walked out on him, A “To Let” Ad Flashed on his forehead! I am— A free bird again, He proclaimed! I am— Available For another fling! Do not apply, Do not reply, Just walk in… And, settle
Well and there is danger Around every corner you turn Trials and tribulations Like a Ferris wheel turns Many dark entities just waiting To devour you and drag You down to the great depths Of hell where it may take
Countless Times I fell, Countless times I rose, Countless times I cried, Countless times I pleaded, Countless times I felt suffocated, Countless times my heart bleed. Countless times I wanted to run away, But never got the courage to have
Wet, wet, the rain does fall Damp, damp, it doesn’t care at all Drip, dip, the drops come down Drop, drop, makes you sad as a clown. Grey, grey, storm clouds above Cold, cold, get your hat and your gloves
This ungrateful city speaks slowly , not out of shyness because of her short garments , but because its suitcase is overburdened with blood. Bitterly I have been crying since the time I saw her. I cry for my dear
“Mary, are you blind? Mary, are you dying? Mary, are you kind? Mary, I am happy for you. Mary, Mary, Mary; the blind lady from the darkness. You come slowly from the ground, as your eyes are stitched tight. Mary,
Tribute – on his Birth I stepped into the evening Of my life and lost interest in living And thought of leaving This wild world. I was waiting To see my grand son arriving Into this wicked world smiling Before
Revive thee the sun of home, REVIVE THEE the son of Tome.. where casteth thee thy piping rays where goest thee thy solid shadows mama’s only son and pride of Tom” that one strong , once bold ,young man adored
In a dream I met my love Ye Lords and Ladies fair minstrels played a melody music floated on the air a jester juggled flaming pins while dancing with a bear handmaidens serving bread and wine the night was ever
Vines entwined, in engrossing weaves. Lush green branches, on archaic trunks. A specter familiar, charmingly exotic, Gazing I stand, recollecting the years. A vision, of some evening, eons back.. Kids’ playful frolic, and cheers lively. Carefree days, romping round the
Duke of the East, O righteous Khalīfah! Thou reign with the divine inspiration. Thou art a holy leader, As the Book of the Prophet states. Successor of the decent Muḥammad. “Blessed are thy deeds,” Thy loyal subjects pray to the
To tread over the moon, to Armstrong, had anyone taught? To scale Mt. Everest, had anyone led Tenzing, with hand caught? Did anyone pioneer Alexander the Great, to conquer the world? Can history stop his success stories being retold? Did
Neither the victim nor the convict I am the witness of my excruciating journey I saw myself rising I saw myself failing I tended myself alone sometimes even inflicted pain on my own self selfish as I am called I
Rumination… No more… proclamation for a key salvation… with gravitational truths and hypodermic memories, measured against a polystyrene heaven… No more… inner conflicts under a solar eclipse, orbiting inside my eyes… Outside-inside Me, rippling rhythms write a new stanza of
Every night this body becomes a dissecting knife a crime scene of blood and unstrung flesh, the lamb spreads the wool for a deadly charge of skull plate with a gift of mathematics a moon cutout in sky before the
Your mane frolics, As wind rushes by, With hooves of wonder, As if it were to fly. Behold! A Beauty so, Equine! And a Beauty so, Divine! O’er the lush green, Under the brilliant skies, Through the hollow woods, Thy
” Can we mould now To rescue me from solitariness; Can we both be friends now Life is for the moment’s happiness ! To err is human, friend One+One will make eleven; Leave the past friend Life is not the
Once lived a King of Cyprus famed Who held all women folk in disdain He eluded wedlock, never to be tamed While his people, they cried prayers in vain Venus at last chose to answer their call From the heavens
Her voice is an awkward drawl among the manifold chatter, the pitch a bit too high to even assimilate in the uniform blather. Her skin is one too many shades darker than the general throng- a constant and incessant reminder
Greetings dear mother from your dear little son looking to act out of his mirror; got longer since you went invisible, yet I am positive you are alongside. I got issues concerned with the copiousness and scarceness of stuffs That
Anti-howling receives the deserter. There was a mass breast-beating without any noise. The pugnacious jaw drops. Shows a frail sensitivity to tormented values – of invisible mirrors, shutting down the wolf’s face. An ancient spider jumps on your bronzed ego.
Love is like an aroma of flowers, Stimulating the senses, Waking the ravenous hunger, Of an insatiable thirst for, Unhurried passion. A love lies beneath, That’s a light from within, With glowing embers of passion, Hearts racing in unison, Emotions
Half-buried in a mud pit, a polluter bares all, body and soul. Hands bound, ready to be stoned to death. A god was going to kill a god. A dense judgement of planet green of an unreliable sun scribbling a
Sometimes horizon roams with moon I pluck the stars night drizzles from the dark clouds. A shadow falls on the door without struggle or rumor I know he has come, my guest the survivor of genocide. He has come a
Love is laughter. Love is knowing that you have someone to turn to. Love is looking at her and thinking she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. Love is being silly sometimes, but that makes you love her more.
Leaves on the trees turning from yellow to brown With a stiff wind soon on the ground Rustling, rustling A pile of leaves so neatly collected Beckoning me so they’re not neglected Rustling, rustling I jump I jump so gleefully
Simple as a thought, even though she is complicated, like a jigsaw puzzle… Hard like diamond, yet soft like wool, deep within… She is different, even though she is, a common human like us… Her lustrous black hair, and sparkling
Do you object to sexual encounters in the clan to save a semi-god from extinction? A political consideration? For you becoming an otherself for future generation? I will not return to the cave for a bell jar of bones in
A solid belief of karmic influence becomes fluidus but life was questioning again. You take to wars with thousand of nukes: still the daffodils were dancing. Float me on the bodies of bullet ridden moons and clouds: the red river,