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
The dome has collapsed. You walk in fire on the eve of exhuming yourself, picking up the pieces of humming life. Eye to eye, the patience was wearing thin, fears had positioned themselves, at the doors, snarling. A mass grave
I see a coincidence, A special coincidence: A center of a circle, An infinitely meeting scale That is visibly invisible And a distance too nearby to reach And a working of an unseen gyre that lets us in And puts
I, with my simeon mind, find myself doubting all that you are with your body wrapped in humble rags, bound by mortal ties while upon the cross you rise above me in fearful symmetry Your truth, your love, your faith
Human relations are complex in nature Relationships may sway extremes from in separable to invisible It takes years to understand and feel comfortable with each other It takes a moment to destroy the love and faith that was built over
The Muse Who is the Muse that stalks my Mind? Who is the Muse this poem, propels? Or does the poem, Muse impel? Who is the Muse in Meditation For attention protests? Answers I seek from my gentle sage. “Your
the whispering bell In the hot desert wild on the high chaparral the desert blooms a sweet flower the whispering bell the color of cream on a pendulous stalk when stirred by the breeze it seems she can talk she
half-clad cult of violence boiling their soulmates roasting the foes one by one killed by a ligature they were building the dams to harvest the power from tears fear climbs on your shoulders unburns hydrocarbons a train moves through the
It was when feelings unfurled And the heart opened wide Down poured a gush Of all that was once untold Tickles from within Brought out the smile, never so shy Tears filled in the eyes Which never wished to cry
Released, freed weeded out off my inner confinements today.. Gone by wasted times dust pollen cleared away ! Heaviness of heart wryly sneered past feelings at bay.. My free spirit tickles senses..for now ..it is fully awake ! Mirror reflection,
Fallen petals from wilted flower spread on the road till horizon bloom is over, warmth is receding it is going to be a long night last hint of light at the horizon faints and we are left alone I didn’t
‘The light that shines upon the door And spread fine glitters on the floor Comes from the beam of the moonlight That slowly sweeps the cloudless night So come my love, on this terrace Let us sit then and find
No more bad thoughts its gotta stop Be positive and grateful for all I’ve got No more mental breakdowns keep it together I can’t be mentally unstable for ever It’s the start of a new beginning today I must block
…So. I said: what is beauty? He said: it is the impossible being real, it is the kohl of a string on the forefingers of a guitar player, it is the explosion of astonishment on a beautiful lady’s waist, it
Looking at remnants of the mirth that fled, This survivor riles at the trysting field Where once lovers bask in the joys they spread, Now forever lost, to forever yield; What with the cold winds blowing crisp and cold, No
Misusing his wealth An emperor has made Fun of our love, So my dear! Never call me here Meet me somewhere. The lady-love Peeped into her love’s eyes Found pain in them And heard his heart’s cries. Eye to eye
I stand before you on the edge, A risen cliff above the ocean. Many times my life I’ve pledged, Followed the book and went through the motions. But you’ve forsaken me, my Lord. And I hear nothing but the wind.
Is it near the fringes of the metropolis Concrete, near the shapeless brink of muddy smell, near the unfringed openness where saltish waves begin to kiss? Can it be saved, since it is sadly snarled, crumpled, half-eaten by a warped
I want a Tuesday kind of love. The sort of thing that involves little dreaming and scheming; the sort of thing that comes paired with too-strong coffee and too-loud songbirds and the drone of the news at 6 a.m. or
My simple yet complicated Today is done for the day I did witness intricate plots, Impromptu visits, marathons, And deep inhales and exhales To not breathe out the anger Irritations, dislikes and disturbances I lay wrapped in my cloth of
Listening to nothing in my ribcage I see the void growing deep within Playing catch with blame and misery I bleed sense unto past memories. I am machine a part of me is a soldier enlisted to serve broken dreams.
The thief helped the blind man up his front steps caressed his elbow and asked about lucky numbers and did he dream about more than one thing – was there smell and touch and sound, how could he tell if
Dog Soldiers of the secret Scottish regimen Go in op of your creatures that lurk in The shadows I know you’ve found more Monsters than the world knows and the Labyrinth of your coven remains legend Since many hundred years
I travel between two worlds World of imagination, another of daily settings. I work, I talk, I sleep and eat And do all things, all for common blessings. My essential hours guide me To assume my conscious self Amid the