Preserverance poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of preserverance poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on preserverance are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Beyond life… Beyond love… I could have staked shortcuts… But preserverance stood me upright… With hope of life… Hope of love… That kept it all alive… Alive in wonders… Of painful trauma… Paralysed in thoughts… Paralysed in acts… But still
I could see him leave, leaving me alone. I weep and cry, not showing it at all. I think about him, every minute, every second, every moment. Where is he now? I wonder… Has he found someone better, than me?
The exuberant fire that burns within my soul, In that first embrace of a lover’s smile; Shall forever be held, in equality to the power of love. Her servant shall forever wish for her luminous, infallible, tongue. Which speaks of
Too much said, too much heard. Numbness remains, unperturbed. Freckles of past, growing on words Poems look like a discolored herd Stifling sunrises deep within Echoing thoughts under the skin I crave for myself, more each time Reciting a wordless,
In his short spaceless life Discordant happiness plays foul, A missed chance heavy price demands. He sought another that never was for him As he feared his utter laziness And never spelt her adored name Before eastern Sun broke forth…..
I will take those precious memories And will frame them with love.. Looking back sometimes i wonder If there were things i could change… It was all my choice I made Experiencing both good and bad… Although it was not
Played in the hills of another world`s land, Spent the nights reading in my room but always dreamed about lying in the sand. Then one evening between 15th and 17th of July, With his wings so heavy and attire so
“Am I Beautiful?” Queried a beautiful maiden! “Yes, indeed,” Replied her lover! “Is there no flaw in me?” She asked. “Not, one!” Assured her lover! “Not even one?” She asked again for reassurance. “No.” Repeated her lover! “Are you sure?”
Mmm.. The rich noir sugary waterfall gently flows Caressing the soft luscious bays of cherry red lips Imagine a calm, crystal-clear river, waves that smoothly glow The glistening moonbeam dancing on the oar’s tips Listen, as they gingerly part the
Cold stars reflected in the water Abyss beckons us his dark distance. Our world, only one of hundreds, In which we can not see the sun. In this world, I am uneasy, I want to touch other planets. Because there
Let us go then, you and I… Let us go then… Tired? Surprisingly, we have been saying this a hundred years. It haunts. The hallucination continues. No, it leap-frogs. Eliot was dead before I was born, before we were born.
The vagaries of life had shattered me down, Made me a coercive slave, submitting to dealers’ erotic frown, But I felt those moments with an absconding pain, As you came to, my life of lame. Your night of birth was
It’s a beautiful town. a hobo in dirty gown He smiled at me he lives near alley he kinda smelly he looked so holy it’s shivering cold snow and rain never heard him complain he played violin gave him watermelon
In my trials and tribulations Be they however great I’ll forever own the splendor In the sanctity of faith You, my precious God Are my hope, guide and way Throughout this realm of ruin Where I patiently remain You amplify
I know we have different moods I know we have different shades That is the reason my heart broods Love at first sight takes decades In melting snow of sheer hatred Making a place for emotions to flow When all
Ours is a world built on ruin. Atop the shoulders of Ozymandias, Balanced on top of pyramids, Set upon the foundations of castles Which sank into swamps long ago. Where one falls out of history, Soon another picks up the
She lifted me gently in her arms, Smiles and warmth all around, She cuddled me closer to her chest, Humming a lullaby that resounds even today, She looked at me in the eye, Her words were soft and divine, Her
Of all the songs I never wrote only the trash remains. Memories of a yellow room the morning after, A foggy winter Delhi high a disarray of rooftops and some garbled music; An orange coffee cup, A piece of sky
Gazing through the swirling fog; the cloying mists of time, hoping to see the ones I love, before the clock’s cold chime. Beyond the final curtain; the call of a tolling bell, what destiny awaits me as shadows fall over
allow me this privilege of seeing you in , the unlit room in a chilly night, alone and guiltless, as night unmask your face, assumed Venus in the cowl shawl, splendor on the door it would admit, the dream of
An old man from the hefty peak of snow beholds the ocean view with waves bouncing high He gets lost in pensive thoughts of nature’s attitude towards human civilization With closed eyes absorbs the events his life experienced in the
The deceased has 2 cusps of lid Not quite drawn down over the eyes – I wonder if they are peering askant Into the afterlife! Pale rouge belies The flaccid cheeks; pertinaciously hid The 90+ years he once was ambulant
In the art of letter writing, is a hand that writes it, pouring out the heart, through a sea of beautiful feelings, surrendering the soul. It is like an intricately woven lace of intense emotions, across the flowery page, that
My love, speak not to me of yesterday, Of withered rose and long gone ecstasies, Neither of dreams nor joys that naught did stay, But of today, where starts new fantasies; If love must hold against Time’s adverse flow, Whilst
You might be watching me, but I am watching you, You think that you’re listening but I am hearing you, You read my body language but I read yours loud and clear, You’re present in the room but your mind
Brothel It was a street of ecstasy walked through by me whispering to others the oldest tales of body and lust every room of mine swinging from green to red as the confessions of sperm counts splashed the stories over
They say; You know how to write. We just don’t have time for you. You know what, This is going to be painful. It’s never our intention to hurt anyone. The thing is, You seem quiet, arrogant. We’re unsure if
An imprisoned bird looks through the window, beauty of the stars in the dark sky. She dreams to fly with her wings wide, sensing the fresh air, rejoicing amidst her fellow birds. She dreams to be happy and free again,
A blossom plant From distant yard Whispered in grief To the flies around : Would you love With same delight When I grow Gray from green? A Sparrow, chirps With perplexed gaze, From profound pride To none but air In