Resignation poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of resignation poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on resignation are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Positivity, happiness, love, these Words you threw at me, expecting Me to grab on to them and connect. Expecting my instincts to take over, Expecting my soul to grasp onto them Instantly knowing, feeling, understanding Their nature, knowing how to
You are somewhere And that is enough Enough is all I have Great empty arms Of distance Cavernous miles Resound and echo Filling the void With love’s longing I ache to close the gap Dissolve the miles Obliterate time And
I will make amends with me today, stop fighting with myself. Unthinkable to live without pain, in war with suffering. Quietly cries the flame without sound. While night lingers on. Nothing was easy for a quick resignation of ephemeral tears.
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.
The hopeless eyes and tear stained horror of a far-away, fragile gaze, where once a sweet and happy child dwelt, till the innocence of life was erased. The tears have dried up, cried out with the pain of battered beseeching
The gentle creak of the suspension as i settle into the drivers seat, the sharp click of the key as it turns in the ignition, releasing the steering lock the metallic cough of the engine, as it starts up from
All those years I underwent orthodontic care for naught ‘cuz profound gum recession and bone dissolution found me fraught with angst riddled necessity whence dentures bought or will soon bring relief, where financial cost to me = aught. though grievous
Their smiles were endearing, amongst the grays of life; Like a pinch of salt, Beauty sprayed their hall! They all laughed & laughed & laughed with their bellies arched, How capturing it must have been so many hearts pumping clean.
When your hot breath passes through warmth of my breath an amazing heat is born from the burning volcano of love that generates a new energy for two hearts to board a ship of love-dreams When my thirsty eyes peep
Somewhere the truth lies still and frozen why can’t we measure ourselves? Measure the unseen depth? Not for gain, not for bliss. For inner tranquility, moving into the time where living and dead meet. The silhouette of circling hawk was
Painful, we fight with verbal knives. As our women and men need no fight, Nor they should suffer any loss in that; But need to be paved in rough roads, From the husband’s office-rules, you say, The odds and orders,
It takes a hard surface to sharpen a knife. Neither surface is willing to give. Difficulties sharpen the way we live. When they are overcome, life holds more to give. The number one is uncontested. Number two denotes conflict. The
Once had a very good close caring friend I thought the great times would never end My boyfriend and I visited him regularly everyday For many movies we watched, and games we’d play One night my boyfriend left his gray
Through the breeze A slight scent of mint The Sumer didn’t even make a dent In the column of cosmic debris Hollow leaves with colors that bleed In Autumn the colors turn red To awake the barren lake Columns of
Can’t you see I’m drowning from your thirst buried in mud to my thighs every day another box arrives at the door the scent of cardboard makes me nauseous another knick-knack begets another floor to ceiling shelf populated by painted
Devour my soul like a flame, And let the burns show, No one will give you blame, When radiant it will glow! Love will surround the blaze, Tender will be the pain, No winds can then deface, What the soul
Dreams never stay the same, They change frequently. Your goal is not a game- As others would see. From an athlete, To social service. You don’t compete- But you never miss. Once those become an illusion, You’re finding new dreams.
I tire of the feelings of dread That envelop my heart every day. The dread, and the hopelessness, That fuels this necessary evil of life. Analysis, thinking, computation, Makes my brain overheat Like an outdated machine under pressure. But still
Nothing just Leaves Without the residues. Limbs cut off, leave Phantom ones; Itchy, scratchy ghosts of Those cleaved off an unsuspecting trunk. In sleepless nights, We feel for the ring, In a finger crossed out in red From a hand
One Life, one Fate, one Love… That one-time, ravishing, sudden love, peeling the layers of years lived in apathy, finally reaching your soul; Times, when you were anonymous to yourself, walking hollow and weary in penumbra of your life; And
Cohabiting: my poems make me sad. You reflect the times my body leaves the wound marks on sand. Again I had gone to my tattered home to sleep under the moon. There was only a small window. I would look
When the night train leaves the terminal, It’s body cold as a corpse, It’s lights alive as chickens in The butcher’s cage, I sit bunched up in my Flea market shawl beside the closed windows. I play that game of
Like you once said Now we, no longer whole Nor known by name Familiar once forgotten now Our thoughts our words An insubstantial haze Of weightless dust The mass and means Of what we were The remnants of our being
Everyone waits for good days to arrive Nobody knows where are those days Hope is only the melody of life Behind the horizon of sky Expectation is enriched in every heart Sufferings are overcome with distance of happiness Nobody knows
The sky is aglow with last rays On altitudes twilight lingers late And saffron clouds hang like lanterns In the vast dusky firmament So deep and gloomy are my thoughts But not in the net of melancholy caught I might
This anguished scene would touch anyone’s heart, Poverty is a menace where everything ends before a start. Every Saturday morning, I could hear their cries, Observing their plight, a little help that everybody tries. It’s an instance of a
Space has all the silent approval, truth will not multiply. Another funeral takes place in the barren field of lies. Fire burns the life’s hopes, while town mourns the death. Sunshine bakes the eyes but truth will not multiply. Desireless
Forest was partisan lilies blushing, moon was parting the milky way, on the terrace the absurd man, and the spaces missing, the house locked in, are left wrecked manuscripts of attempts to save the translations of life’s books Give me