Futility poems bring the best collection of short and long futility poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great futility rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these futility poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on futility are here for you.
Death; The Dealer of the final deck of life. No hidden agendas, just a cold slate to wipe. With hand and sword or with rock and stone, with shaft sailing deadly through grey skies, alone. The smarter the weapon, the
Trying to follow truth his journey was nightmarish. Alchemic fusion with past and future failed – his bowl was still empty. In the inner space a largesse, free of present, becomes the pain of perfection! Now what to do next?
Self imposed sabbatical is nearly coming to end Time stood as witness all along as true friend Trials it has withstood tribulations too of sort Few were as expected some awfully fell short It needs introspecting to re jig and
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
Black and white Like the colour of the colobus in Colorado Make me of Black Magic think. Witches that bring about white things. Black and white How can black ever rule the white? When even the darkness vamoose From the
Gingerbread, Jellybean and KitKat with tiny sims, Safely secured in everyone’s pocket like magical plastics ; We carelessly treasure these gags, As if we could preserve them; For an entire life it seems. Our helpless youth’s every moment, Is glued
From chronic sort tedium must rise above to explore Life beyond old drudgery since long not felt before While in indulgent misery the core had twisted askew Time to rid of past clutter to rewrite lost verve anew Dump affecting
The wind writes a name on the clouds and sun wipes out the letters. This game continues daily. coming into life after every death. Exhausted I want to believe and make up my mind to go for a new birth.
A look to behold A passion to fulfill A life to live An obligation to creed love, loss and the futility of it all… Buckle up still, while you can meandering valley of sorrowful loath sunrise of purpose and lost
A twisted journey starts on wings after the end of the road. Ambition sits in corner, nonchalantly and a tempest hollers around the spires. Broken down from parched ceiling a mural turns into a mundane knife. Lifts the rage, of
(1) Here I am bathing, this winter, like an antelope under rain showers. God’s voice is still walking on clay laid out from the beginning of time up to the end of earth. The first woman’s eyelashes are scattering from
Messengers of God came To reform men All toiled hard to spread goodness and upbraid vices Generally they suffered and were agonized Noble minds believed and weak minds not So happened with the wit of every learned or enlightened person
With stoicism writ on face I invite the chisels for giving birth to a dialogue between me and the shaper. Where did the things go wrong in making the life a simple page to write a beautiful poem? Buddha give
There is a life lesson found upon your lips. A secret to life transcendence. No longer consistent to the thought of what happens next. This is the value of your lips. A connection of where dream becomes reality. Curious to
This was my book of pain with no ending. Life had two meanings- Anticipation of today, and fear of tomorrow. Time was running out like sand from fists, mists were rising, commentaries on setting sun had begun. Mind was calculating,
I do apologize Giving you credit on your day, Mother You’d think you fell into oblivion And to memory you come occasionally, Mother You’d think the stream of my love From my heart stops flowing, Mother You’d think my eyes
When we met for first time, Our relationship was thinner than water. When we kept on meeting, Our relation became thicker than blood. When we talked for first time, The conversation was shorter than the twinkling of eye. When we
In the cobbled sunlight Cast by the filtered leaves She gazed fondly at him, Love apparent in her gaze He played with bushes, the grass Her watchful eye took in, ready For a loving pat, a reminding tap, To guide,
What really matters? Questions with no answers! Rules with no questions; Tyranny of the “righteousness”! What is right or wrong? Better go ‘left’ & strong? Yet lost and confused, Crossroads aplenty, myriad. Participate or get lost, Disagree and be an
Crimson tulips,scarlet roses, Snow-white roses with beautiful posies. Gorgeous fairies in flamboyant gowns, Always cheerful and happy,they never frown. Yellow buttercups and pink azaleas, Hibiscus and bright coloured bougainvilleas, Spreading on the walls of the lush green lawns. As if
We are mere children of the void. Specks on an infinitesimally small mote in limitless space. Lost by size, overlooked by indifference. A universe indifferent to our existence. The stars will shine, the planets will spin regardless of our future.
I look through my window and like what I see Clear blue sky soaring high above me The air so fresh and a pleasure to breathe Fluffy white clouds made of what you believe Beneath the canopy of life-giving wonder
It all seems important until someone doesn’t remember the squabbling plans of a coven of third grade girls to torment a classmate each with a thick red pencil sharpened for poking each put together as glossy as a nine-year old
This war between, the flesh, and spirit, When it begins, you can really feel it. For the flesh wants you to do, the things that are wrong, But your spirit wants you,to sing a victory song. Then you get caught
Well and there is a LOST SEA Somewhere running through The crystal caverns down and Around the foot hills of the Appalachian Mountains… I remember some kind of strange Indian folklore from many lifetimes Lived before, you look into my
prisoner of retribution, he was buried under a salt lake, elusive, his crotch, not far from stings of wasps, the blood spills, he would wonder how to catch the truth in black river, wrapped in imperforated causes, leaking with curses,
Grant me but these easy wishes: Simple fare my daily dishes; Safe fare from vice and vanity; Work-joy, love, peace and sanity; A quiet mind and quiet breath And when I die, a quiet death; Thereafter, grant me dissolution, Anonymity
It was a wake up call invoked in the beginning of serene numbness. Under the veiled threat of a moon celebrating the kill. A path in croci; waiting becomes a torture for a saffron sundown, mercury was rising on snowy