Materialism poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of materialism poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on materialism are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
When You need to focus On something, You have The camera! When You want To communicate With someone, You have The omnipresent Mobile phone! When You want to Cook a Quick something, You have The Microwave! When you Need some
As a society, we have reached the point where vanity has overwhelmed sanity Where we prefer big beds instead of big hearts Where we aim to live in big cardboard boxes, hollow ones Where we choose to take shelter alone
In a cool blanket of water floating, the expansive green leaf gliding, on a lake serene and shimmering, caressed by the breeze mesmerizing, with tranquility So alluring. A symbol of vastness, a sign of openness, pink and white they float
Born May 5, 1818, in Trier Germany to Heinrich and Henrietta Marx, sans the third of nine children (and second oldest heir) Karl Marx thinking begot incendiary sparks, asper his two most controversial publications titled The
You came into my barren world When I had fallen short of life With beautiful dreams ever dreamt of Filling colors to each and every dream of mine With the dazzling aroma of the shining moon With the soothing breeze
You could say that some people are a diverse beverage of preferences; some are mixed, some are stirred, and others are even shaken. Your dad’s anger reminds you of a mixed coke and rum, but his passion reminds you of
She is desolate, slender and feeble , yet she has an unshaken sound will that instills energy and hopes into her humble heart to yearn for pleasant conclusion to her withering sapless body . Staring at things around through her
She canters freedom like wind Gallops wilderness like fire And into metallic dreams She blazes banter with reverence- Only to chute through life’s greenbrier- letting seasons mark her deviance! As she gaits, bittersweet love is dinned with a shako of
Gently caressed by the breath of the breeze, branches sway atop tall lofty trees. Restless leaves, to gnarled fingers, cling wondering what freshness the new day will bring. Hopping about on long leafy arms, fluttering feathers displaying delicate charms. Beautiful
I heard the shepherdess sing The song of dawn upon the hill Merry go the twinkling stars In shelter of their dream The sunbeams come Dancing upon the lake When the yellow traveler Makes his sway Flowers open up their
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
Just a look and they cast a spell on me those beautiful enchanting eyes; As they captivated my senses, yet emancipating my heart into the skies; Elevated much by the setting around, those dark eyes in a darker guise; And
Find something you’re passionate about and let it consume you. Do not run from it. Let it keep you awake for 48 hours at a time. And while you’re running on zero sleep, create the next wonder of the world.
The aesthetic beauty of twilight , Reminds of a lost soul, In the fleeting moment of bygone years, That vanished to oblivion, Surfacing in the sea of thoughts, To bring back the silent hopes, Wishfully strewn in path of life.
Yesterday I saw a dream, That I was in the factory of chocolate and cream, I saw a number of donut shapes, And the wonderful music that I can’t tape, There were so many colourful lollipops, But the fountain of
Remember the season, When you and I become friends for a reason, Since then we’ve been together, In happiness and pain it doesn’t matter. We capture every split second, That’s how we reckon every memories after hand, The felicity that
Often yet not frequent, I’d see this young delinquent, An exact image of whom I were most recent, So to say that I stare at my past thus avoiding myself at that instant. That very moment, Ne’er ought I insinuate
From the land of bestrode came Ambrose the toad, With boring tales of a bureaucratic charade. Why would this old fart, with always the same start, Repeat old stories about the British Brigade? He’d tell you everything he could, Though
Before the spill there was soaring. And then anti-g. I readied myself for the ultimate fall. This was the poetry of submission sharing the pain of disillusionment. Who was pretending of liberation in a see-through heart? This was the time
Are you sleeping with hate? I wanted to know, does it have a meaning? For we human beings, any equals in plants and animals? There was this audacious betrayal of a brute force to behead a beautiful lass, a scion
It’s close to midnight, My thoughts are taking flight, Averse to my sleepy plight, Restful sleep would be a delight. My brain decides to spark, to ignite, Thoughts cluster like a series of kites, Now I imagine pigeons in tights,
Everything starts with a piece of something. But she’s already in pieces so how come? Such a dark journey, she wasn’t telling. A tragic story. Ending— there was none. All was black. She’s not blind, But her hope was. There’s
Beyond the storm of screams and groans And cries of a wretched tortured people, Lies a child curled, fists to his ears Consumed by the roar and fury Of a haunted Peace. Sweetening his ears now burned to whitened noise
It is that time again for all we have lost to be regained and our weaknesses to be strengthened and bent choices to be straightened. Come join me, let us rejoice make your choice because life is what we make
O life, O beautiful lie; Blinding light, release me from your tight embrace, For even the light deceives us, leads us of its own vices Under the guise of splendour and the veil of grace. I have broken down, and
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
Expedition of life starts at dawn. Trainers come genetically, custom and society fill the gap, we start a journey, the route is misty. I started for the Kanchenjunga Half of the track was well lit road rest was chosen weather-wise.