Reflective poems bring the best collection of short and long reflective poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great reflective rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these reflective poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on reflective are here for you.
I watch the world go by, From my position at its periphery, I ask each day, For a sign, a message, Something to turn the senseless into the meaningful. My thoughts turn inward, My being aches with the pain of
Winging my way through the air; high in the Cascade Mountain Range. With a serene wilderness lake just below me. Reflecting an exquisite brilliant sunrise of various shades of yellows, oranges, and golden hues. Reflected upon the glassy placid surface.
The moonbeams kiss the sea, As the waves clasp one another- And fling silvered nets, Over the crinkling sea. The swells of the tide, Like emotions on the high, In shimmering silvery silhouettes- With splashing waves on a thrill. Twinkling
Frightening rain clouds on the Eastern skyline are aglow, infused with a coppery color caused by the protruding angle of the sun. This coppery infusion has a message: Nature has taken control of this reflective wilderness evening. Displaying a bond
Nature’s Marvel In the night sky, what should appear? A golden mantle created by a full harvest gold moon, as the reflective eye of an eagle, fluffy clouds in the shape of an eagle’s magnified head. Glowing golden moon beams
O, the magnificent rose, What beauty you behold, Emotions you hold Makes me hesitate to come close. O, the spectacular rose, You colored with dangerous red, Seems no one shall dread To take a step close. What beautiful thorns you
The fragility and passion that emits blood as viscous and crimson as the hue and cry of her inhabitants… The sad, tormented and sorrowful soul of this groaning entity of life and death with her terminal sickness… That hangs, suspended…and
Lamps and lanterns left afloat Adrift by the golden boat A young girl lay sleeping within Covered in silvery cloaks thin The current glowed golden in the light The beauty like a magical sight Thousands of twinkling sparks A lovely
Seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave -Prophet Mohammed Last night I dreamed the snow-capped hills of Swat… I saw the green spread valleys And the lucid swat river I stood for a while in front of the gate
If you’ve listened close to silence, I’m sure that you’ve heard, The gentle constant ringing, In the space between two words. When you really pay attention, You find it’s not just in your head, But instead in the whispers of
I love… Paris in the summer, Bombay in the rains Cotton candy clouds, trees drooping over river bends Rickety trains, Topsy-turvey roller coasters Mountain mists, seeing the ocean meet the sky Rainbows (even without the pot of gold), loud thunder
Curly reveled in gamboling meadows where all was bleating purity and colour rare with buttercups. With snapping at her heels she led a skittish huddle In senseless panic, Into a world of roasts and hedgerow sauces. A blade, sharp to
Getup stellar, Wake up star, Have a nice draft, Have a reliance on yourself, Let’s walk with a smile, Success is yours, warmth welcomes you with “Cool Morning”! Stars are the way, let’s have a nice dream, Dreams are like
Blinded by religion the world is, Touched by holiness, everythings at ease. The parents of a girl of seven Got her a holy guide to make her reach heaven. His deeds and thoughts were said to be long, His greatness
I can say without a doubt that you did not simply follow others you made your own path though it was and is hard one of those untrodden trails where every rock twists your joints and leads nowhere but up
If hope were mystical and only available for this present and earthly life, I would think my future to be cloudy and dark, not sunny and bright If hope were in a constant state of deferral I think my heart
Cu-sith roam and howl to the moon Venting their anger in audible form Across the woods their voices roam Sending chills to those in their home. Spoken of as legends and myth The Cu-sith chase and hunt Magic in their
Sitting on the heap of mortals, an angel failed. The world was not going to change. The kill had inspired only a naked aggression. Not blindfolded he took the bullet in heart to become a holy martyr. The pretention caused
O; happy folk, poetry is the fingers of light, descending at evening like an old farmer with eyes cut from azure. It told me that the sun has two long braids, and goes out at dawn to her grandfather’s flourishing
Sitting back and gazing at the contingencies, That had their existence owing to a lack of effort, A lack of attitude, a lack of passion, The picture seemed so dark then, so dull, When people had given up all hopes,
During one of my procrastinating sessions, I stumbled upon the similarity of people and boxes. They all come in various forms, shapes, sizes, colours and textures. The large ones, the small ones, the fat ones the tall ones, the clay
Shed the mood Blue Open your heart, feel the world which seems so new Things may not change, Many angels or demons will stay down the memory lane, Perspective and change in attitude is the clue, Shed the mood Blue.
Leave your worries by the shoreline, And run your bare-feet through the sand, Let the water be a soft bed, When you cannot bear to stand. Make friends with flying seagulls, And hold the sun up-to your palm, Before you
Dig a hole and shout As death and destruction wage an exemplary war. Soft stranded hair Wailing waves Lead floating bodies astray. Who would cry for you my child? Who remembers the name with the guttural abyss? Who would cry
Waiting under the opaque moon a primeval instinct takes over you and you start arriving. A black bone renders the ash on your forehead and you complete the circle – reaching childhood; you start climbing the ladder, for instantaneous release.