Fiction poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of fiction poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on fiction are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
I had always wondered If fiction is wrought Only in books and on celluloid. I know now, that fiction is when one by one the layers are pulled off. and the shadows that remain Is fiction. So when the boundary
Is it fiction or reality? Called the end of life or is birth’s wife. Death, is a dreadful reality, But, why don’t we accept it wisely. For fiction, it is the easiest way to frighten, But about death, it does
Oft have I heard the preachers say “Time and Tide waits for none” This is false, quite untrue; ‘Coz time and tide do wait for some. The days of day-dreaming and fairytales have passed away, Responsibilities and tensions have made
What is this entity that’s entered my body? Day by day now I feel myself slipping away Slowly fading into a memory… I fight tooth and nail to overcome this alien Attack so I can warn the world of this
Let’s take a walk Just you and me and none of our goddamn pretensions None of the constant editing of words and phrases in our daily interactions Let’s say things as they come to mind Hell, let’s just not say
10 ways to write a poem! No sentence in the glory of English language has hit me as hard as this one did. I started writing poetry when I was in class 7th. I still remember the day when this
On a lonely day, I stare at the shaking trees, And falling leaves. Deciduous leaves leave the boughs, And a stream flows and stirs about Like a lovely lough. A scene so beautiful, I looked and adored nature’s manoeuvre, What
The world’s a big place, big place with large number of lives resting, amongst them lives the mixture of feelings, for time is money and not an element to live, air is just a source to exist not to breathe
Their gossip is a debauched addiction, Aided by an imagination, so absurd… The borders amid actuality and fiction; Whizzes away, swift as an agile bird! They are uncaring for infliction caused, Or for the aftermath of tears and turmoil… For
He put on a tie for the appointment, carefully knotted it though while rounding up his necessaries from the scarred top of the old, painted dresser he dropped his keys twice and decided to take the bus His feet were
If you weren’t a lie I’d eat you whole, Maybe wisen up to the days you stole, But your consciousness is dripping south, So sit up straight and spit the fiction from your mouth, You’re so effortless to behold and
Ends did not meet, like beginnings, fact was insulted by fiction: the newborn stuns the God. Drop by drop life drips from ankles. Desolation takes advantage, forgets the path, becomes self-centered. Dialect changes, to taste the foul heritage, cadaver breaks
Before you Know and in despair Humankind do hear my prayer As deep within my mind I scream In witnessing this nightmare dream Humanity it seems is blind Forgetting that to love is kind When did decay begin to start?
What were the lies in a truth of the buried day? Fabulous cries? Tears? It was a tremble down in the standing crop of men ready to be genetically modified. Each walk in the city exhausts you to an innocent
Time passes by The birds flew high Grass is never greener on the other side They lied They lied Controlling your mind You’re being watched And they’re inside Your split mind Comedy and tragedy What is this horrid travesty The
When darkness dampens your devotion, The will is there but devoid of emotion; Remember to hold your head high And kiss every violent wind which passes by. That violent wind takes you to places unknown, Places of future palaces and
A tie of life full of affection With a common dream for eternal continuation. Building a haven filled with passion Along comes a gift with a task of attention. A pensive journey through the long duration The whole nine months
Well and you say I am one of a kind it’s you that legends are made of you say I’m always on your mind it’s you that suspends me in time it cannot be forbidden now if it takes a
You say it is lovely the rumination of what is gone by! I say it is graceful to put the past away! You ask how can I build a harmonious collocation?! I say with a simple fiction combination! You say
Once upon a sinful past, temptation to trade the soul. Riches beyond that can be perceived andcvulnerable with lust for control. What is a soul if not old, mine is shiny and new and a souls cost, a pretty penny
Feeding me heroic tales I call drunken fiction, he is still pouring zinfandel down my throat gawking at me the same way he does gazing into the mirror Inching forward with lingering fingers, he pleads. Indifferent, I acknowledge. It’s a
While the last hours set in motion I lend my memories for praising The moments of the year for dazing Much as I was stumped in my action. It isn’t the best I’ll ever come across; I bet, it’s the
They say poetry doesn’t pay , A hobby for slacker’s bay , Frost projected it as condition , Far from being called ‘ real profession’ . Advised to bring out the writer , Write pages, words , Ensure some monetary
Tracing the primordial culture of truth in its oneness, we find the ultimate answer. Still the negative effect prevails increasing the confusion. Existence in now, has a travesty of truth. Can we breakaway from our past? Can we exist between
She smiles in your face so pretty, But her intentions are dirty, Because behind your back it’s another story, And she talks out your business like it was history, So stop telling her things about you that are confidential, Because
About the book – Ray Mootrey, first time author and poet has captured elements of new-age spirituality in an exciting post-apocalyptic science fiction fantasy. HARRY THE MOLE is an epic poem; the story of a reluctant hero who overcomes his
As the tram runs on the rails, Weather bitten houses emerge telling tales, Revolutionaries’ urge for freedom, Idealism in poetry and fiction, Reminiscent of immortal singers, Dancers in their grace, Tears trickle down in claustrophobia; yearning for a home which
They stand stiffly before his milky contrail thought of tittering, a fiction, flying across an evening sky once a giggle mash, now a distant funerary memory. Imagine it, a flounder flopping in deadly malodorous silence. Truth rips at his empty
What if love was free What if the sky were the sea Would that be better for you or me What if there was no doubt What if we understood what life was all about Would we all laugh and
That magical high, Flying up to the sky, But when it’s time to say bye, And you are no longer fried, You feel like you want to die. An evil pill shall kill, It can be legally filled, But don’t
I woke up, got hit by a rock No wait, feels more like a truck It doesn’t matter I’m broken and my heart is scattered Listen closely friend; LOVE does not matter Those empty promises, shallow vows The memories, the
Heart breaks.. A topic that rules the world of fiction. The cinema loves it, the writers give it so much of stardom and center stage. Be it the classics or the contemporary, tragedies out stand the happy endings. It’s also
Hope in the determinism of love Choosing sides Scallop prayers in the masses Electric angels crossing the war Free will Numbered days Her streets are the labyrinths of regret We meet in a science fiction gun show Minds are weapons
What if love was free What if the sky were the sea Would that be better for you or me What if there was no doubt What if we understood what life was about Would we all laugh and shout
She smiles in your face so pretty, But her intentions are dirty, Because behind your back it’s another story, And she talks out your business like it was history, So stop telling her things about you
The road breaks here. Give me something to heal the fractured earth. Angels are too much for me, the gash turns inward ripping apart eternal vigil. They head into the burning books and then explode themselves on wet sands, generating
Inheriting the dust of street something of a lofty ideal in politics of poverty, I want to get back to my native moon.There are too much wounds here. My green blessings came from the dark. Sun was altering the geometry
I used to run far from reading, School didn’t dispel that feeling. Until your words worked open that door Hogwarts, I could never have explored. Your words were already read by them all I was curious but careless most of
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
when another (anointed as lady lucky) resident renter bequeathed her bed prior to that good samaritan deed thyself and spouse slept on the floor like dogs dead tired from another day acclimatizing ourselves, especially when tummies got well fed and
All I feel is sorrow. Without your love I am sure there will be no tomorrow. Your love seems to only bring me pain. It is like a stinging rain. You lie and cheat. All I feel is utter defeat.
