Sleepwalking poems bring the best collection of short and long sleepwalking poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great sleepwalking rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these sleepwalking poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on sleepwalking are here for you.
Well there’s a chimpanzee playing in my flower bed, there’s a ghost in my attic raising mortal hell, I must be going crazy ‘cuz I haven’t even taken any pills and this can’t be real, I tell myself you know
The Night seems to be so ‘Haunted’. He scares us with his ‘Beauty’ and makes us so comfort with his ‘Darkness’. He is someone who doesn’t talk but listens to everything. When Night is awake every life is dead. But
Looked downward – the granite face, to see imprinted kupfernickeled god, lying in dust. From where to where we have come sleepwalking? In freezing winds, like brown angels with swollen lids. White moon-poised to commit suicide? Blindfolded heavy as lead
my father used to tell me that divorce was the process of losing one’s routine. 5:30 came and went without the sound of a familiar rattle from outside the door that came from my mothers keys. last night I got
Beyond the sex he was sleepwalking in shame hiding his faith ingloriously. A poacher in harem of politics, where you stack the hidden virility for killing the money. A single mate must die making love on screen in the vicinity
Her silhouette against the sun; while I stare at her perfect contour-lying on the beach tear eyed, Rays of sun-shine in the background; her shadow engulfs me with all its might; she smiles, Promises to return to me- I ado
I wish to be loved by a man Like never ever he loved any Like that before The tender touch should Shake my life and soul within And happily I should ensconce myself Within himself His love must be that
Creaking doors in the attic Crying like ocean waves Wind singing through the canopy As the piano starts to play. Evil voice moaning lullabies Heavy footsteps are in sight Bloody-red eyes in the dark shades How haunted this world is.
Your house is a historical landmark That’s been passed down from Generation to generation but little Did you know this gift you were About to inherit would cause Great chaos and devastation.. Your ancestors are getting Restless now longing for
Photo by Nad Renrel Desiring urges of the forbidden rule It’s almost irresistible How much I want to caress his face To kiss his lips softly passionately So hard to hide the desire inside I want to move closer Touch
Envision freedom as a circle spanning three hundred and sixty degrees And sitting at the circle’s center you are at liberty to swivel and tilt at will Mesmerized by the seemingly limitless opportunities that beckon Within each degree a fountainhead
A manifestation of her fury, Made us witness and bury, Concrete dreams under debris, As we stand victims of the crisis. Helpless, she let herself be dug up, For us to mine wealth and stack up. But her heart and
It so happens. these days, I come to you with forgotten sails, with abandoned poems, with a heart worn away by the salt of this world. It so happens that I arrive at your door empty-handed. I have nothing to
What are we? We are a bag of meat and water. Then why the consciousness. Consciousness is indeed a mystery. Does consciousness come from somewhere else and just inhabit our bodies? Where does it go after the meat and water
The whole truth was porus, a hard punch on my face. We stood on the edge of lies. Body twisted at several places, mutually hating, yet telling sweet nothings, bored umpteen times like eroded hisses. The shrieks belie the red
Morning came and dreams walked out, A savage life was knocking my door With harsh iron hands holding an unpalatable casket Loading grey flowers of troubles having colorful multitudes Immaterial my blinking desire, my aversion and perturb It ran in
Sitting in silence surreptitiously meditating on the everyday turmoils and confusion that repulses even the most hard-core reality driven populists Thoughts come and go within the realm of preposterous assumptions that convey nothing of importance Just pass the time as
like ether, permeating all space mesmerizing, he walked away, head of his enemy in his hand, like a trophy? frighteningly orangish a decapitated body shudders. The holy war demands its price of a joke. The face of red and blue.
A crowded room is such a lonely place, wear a fragile mask upon a weary face. Everybody’s here but there’s nobody there and there’s nothing to do except sit and stare. The distant sounds of joy and laughter drifting like
No, not died yet, Destruction, doesn’t mean death. Now, shine is more intense than before, Broken things have more edges than a whole one. Now, light is entering through cracks, Now, no need to be whole again. It will lead
Whole world hides in your liquid eyes, I need to return to my consciousness, to change my verse. The dry air has wiped out the beautiful words sitting on the edge, of a meaning I write a new song. Discovering
The fresh start I had has become another living nightmare and everywhere I look life has gone mad. Waking up every morning makes me terrified always making the run for more sleep won´t stop, won´t end my cry. Where have
When in love every moment is worth more than rubies & diamonds, Moments converged to memories, those that never easily fades nor ends. When in love every smile is sweet, sweeter than cherries & chocolates, Smiles lasting miles, those that
Can we borrow the eyes of winter and spring to detect — behind the slippery, crystal-glassy, prayer-like quiet and focus of a sentinel, a snowman half-disfigured when scrutinized by early February winds — sparkles from an unseen, unbeatable citadel? Perhaps
I looked into the darkness And there they were. Some were barely twenty A few a little more. They did not move, They were dead. And the war went on without them. Back into the jungle, Like deadly ghost we
I was crawling deep down the wood, Flowers of love blossomed on head, Red, yellow, blue, green leaves smile, Waiting to greet the lovely dawn for a while Looking at the bounty of burning sun Warming in his strong arms
With their backs to the sun They ask “why” and “where” Focused on having fun They refuse to even care I tell them “turn around, It’s closer than you think” But they continue to look down Without a single blink
A scholar of sixty monsoons with an amass knowledge in rarity He looks like a dry seed that has wings to fly every narrow spot to sprout Elevating every sluggish being to refresh the unrefined English What roles he enacts
Never in those sizzling conflicts displaying the pink eyes you were able to reach me. Was it metagenesis, forgetting your selfhood? Fragments of a beast were floating on sea. Was umblicus of death broken in the crotch of a mother?