Lgbt poems bring the best collection of short and long lgbt poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great lgbt rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these lgbt poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on lgbt are here for you.
One, Too many firsts, Two, We got sand in our shoes, Three, You wanted to keep seeing me. One, trigger word for gay beginnings, Two, times with denim jackets and black bottoms, Three, Popcorn, jelly tots and prawn tempura sushi.
Someday Someday I’ll wake up before the alarm Kiss your forehead while u sleep in my arms Flip our pancakes Focusing for my ambulance You will change bad to good. Give teens another chance. Showing the light thats inside Leading
Lost in the dark Stumbling, falling Scratched and torn Savages bark The ones called friends A light shown bright A ray of hope A ladder of escape Two hearts beat as one Fell into each other Hope was their drug
The things you do when there is nothing Hungry bellies looking to excel Young minds spending their time bluffing and how the stories tell Pure with gracious words and subtle movements Grabbing eyes and thoughts the same Never staying in
What is love Is it hate turned upside down? Is it affection, inclination or predilection or a perilous and precarious position? May be that old lane of my town where that moment still prevails and gives me solace, where once
I can’t stop writing when I think of you You are morning’s cold water splash You are the shower of rain from hanging clouds You are favourite song on my lips You are the dream keeps me awake every night
It’s a contest between the heart and the head, Or finding a place where they meet instead It’s about living in the then or living in the now, About working it out or just wondering how It’s about clutching at
Your presence – dear God – it’s intoxicating. It interrupts my daily thought process. It leaves me in a never ending, head scrambling, mental chaos. I can’t remember right from left. Or distinguish the difference between white and black. And
Their fingers gently interlocking, each clasped the other’s hand. In silence whilst they slowly walked, on the soft, warm, evening sand. Just an occasional inquiring glance, into the other’s eyes. Spirits in a romantic waltz, such depth of feeling a
Into the bowels of my being I go, searching for who I am. Far out into the Universe I search, as far as the eye can see. So many questions I have, but true answers a rare commodity. Frustrations mount,
The symphony of you serenades I feel for the sound of touch My fingers caress the piano keys that are the gentle ridges descending your spine Violin strings resonate in the silk strands of your scented hair Your warm eyes
With midnight far behind and gleams increase, Sunrise hints of impending breaking out, The night almost finished ending its lease, As now alarmed roosters begin to shout Of dawn, while Yesterday floats downriver, And sands of Time unload from Future’s
Somewhere amidst the tangles of troubles Is hidden a pearl pure and subtle . . . That enlightens our heart To feel the untouched, unknown and unheard In which burns the flame of spirituality To reduce into ashes the crave
Through oceans of tears comes the Smile on the face, The Smile that struggles to find its place, The Smile that masquerades the hurt and pain, A strong pretense, that never goes in vain. A wave of nostalgia begins to
Your creativity whenever it is suppressed It finds another better way to tread such compression raises in you fresh zeal With strong sense determine when feel, Rejections by any authority might sometimes mean Presence there of a monster with eyes
The mysterious rival: suffering of resignation. I am reading myself for the surrealism of life, juxtaposition of love and hate. Another blast went off. White rose and black rose in the same garland; ruins of truth were older than lies.
Life is a simple play Don’t make it mysterious. All complicated words wrapped into one, Make a bunch of gawky efforts and simultaneous grief. Myriad mementos contemplating miseries, Do no less than to future, humiliation and bad welcoming. That’s what
O my sons of soil and daughters! I nursed you with my nectar But what you gave me back Loads of your filth and squalor. I watered your fields and orchards Bedewing lips quenched your thirst But you robbed of
In the stand-off between stolen history and presiding deity. Priest was hanged, while a blue cloud was shedding the yellow moon. Who was selling God on the road? A tall coconut tree was my home; all but your mouth was
Do not want to foresee; the unknown me. On the tip of tongue a stunted silence with singularity sits. Me and my lantern burn in dark. Thumbs down: the compact seeking in failed state alters the future generation. A reverse
Sitting in a cushioned chair in his living room, absurdly comfortable, while he reads Georg Trakl’s late poems, the old man, himself a poet, drifts into a shallow sleep. He is alone in that place of Being, where desire and
He picks, that’s what he does. Picks his brain for rational thoughts. Rips them apart, twists the bits and joins them back again, misshapen. Holds them up to the light, interrogates them, tortures them and Then drowns them in the