Solititude poems bring the best collection of short and long solititude poetry. Poems for him and her and every poetry lover. These great solititude rhymes are so amazing they will touch your heart and keep you craving for more. Hope you find your own deep meanings in these solititude poems. They are decent, rhyming, free spirited and true. Thoughts on solititude are here for you.
The tear drops run down, And fall off her nose. She cries in dark corners, Where nobody goes. You can follow the track, From her eyes to her chin. Years upon years, Of letting them win. And her eyes tell
Listening to the Sea – Series of poems Blushing the tides around the boat Living and Non Living both I encompass Some bathe within me and some live within me I spread myself so vast to see the horizons of
You were born, you’ll be going to die, no doubt! Live the never-ending, everlasting life, escape from death’s mouth. When you were born, the world celebrat’d and you cried. Live the life in such a way, That world should cry
Numb at noon and thoughts adrift He takes another sip The turmoil in his head, confused A twitch..and then a clumsy shift A snap of fingers, “Another please” His bloodshot eyes seem lost Fumbling for his change, he finds A
Looking at the mirror, I remembered, The day you had bought that dress for me. That silly dress, the one in black with white polka dots. You had told me, that when you come back, We would dance together in
On your dark face smile does not spread like a butterfly. Most reticent I had been, It was very difficult to give, and very painful to take. You wanted to be noticed, and I had a tryst with uncharted path.
A special delivery is often made, Of a loving couple’s sweet young babe. Wrapped in a blanket and dangling free, At the end of the bill of a Stork or three. Sleeping and quiet the babies would be, At peace
Outside me was a howling light tracing a path. Ending the struggle of abstract thoughts. The night was full of hidden flares. The day was a luxury, full of exclusiveness. We must not cry. The wounds turned up like fireflies
Tracing the primordial culture of truth in its oneness, we find the ultimate answer. Still the negative effect prevails increasing the confusion. Existence in now, has a travesty of truth. Can we breakaway from our past? Can we exist between
Moth against-the screen flitting at the light-repeatedly being blind- to the source it seeks- reacting over and over-to strive live and beat-long as it can more over- a thousand times-with wings kept moving-relentless-ly until it fails- in it’s attempt to
Helping myself wiping my tears , and trying to escape my fears . See myself scared confused clone , delving deeper into something unknown . Nostalgia from another night of no sleep , symptoms of my illness still creep .
His last breath….. from within a white Portland ward, beneath white linen sheets. Were silent endearing sounds. They were not born of pain… but of peace. His loyal wife…his bonded sons… at his side. The oldest son softly whispering, “Go
It was a big trauma. Granary went overboard, my boat was torpedoed. No romance was left now. At the burial of the moon aliens were arriving. You do not want to call it a genocide. The massacre of millions, of
*Whoosh* Thoughts embedded into my psyche unravel, As I steadily make my way out past the unabating white water. The pure, crisp, salty air fills my nose, lungs, and heart. *Whoosh* I cast an earnest gaze onto the horizon, Awaiting
You built me up, favored by your light’s glow, To bask thereat, as world lies at my feet, I half believe my luck, the times that flow, Still sweet, even through nights of hale and sleet; Your tender touch, soft
Well there’s Hooverville on the edge of the river haint nuttin boot flimsy cardboard e’en with clothes will shiver waiting for tension to be released like a arrow in a taut quiver major organs ready to burst open cuz day
Children laughing when at play, bright sun rising to greet the day Sweet cream added in my morning coffee, horses munching hay A rusty nut that just breaks free, an ancient majestic noble tree Wind at my back true point
Your presence – dear God – it’s intoxicating. It interrupts my daily thought process. It leaves me in a never ending, head scrambling, mental chaos. I can’t remember right from left. Or distinguish the difference between white and black. And
Today, small things ask some uncomfortable questions. I enter the eye of a wound. Unscathed, will i obey the law of believing; the round mirror? It reflects the absolute truth? Consolations, they begin the attack in the valley of thoughts;
Humans are animals, same as the rest. We sprung up from the same womb as all animals do. What makes us different is what’s in our heads? We think, we plan, we build, we progress. Human minds have grown to
I have something say, but fear, not dare, blood runs cold and I feel a Chill. If only some could understand how we feel, For the consequences of a confession we had to reveal, And the situations that we have
It began as the second decade of the 21 Century entered middle age, an underlying sense of unease, change. New technology increasingly altering perceptions. Reality not seeming so sure. Our five senses, were they enough? Were they telling us the
In tottering penetration of blue summer you become silent game. I accept my defeat from stones falling on intellect. Carbon fear of rosewood was rising to reintegrate illicit love of twilight. Testing the waters, before a swim in prophecies I
A new twilight I see each day, Through the echos of broken mirrors, The whites are all blood stained, The lights are getting dimmer The wounds are fresh and open, The glass so clear and sharpened, As they pierce through
The stars are shining bright, It’s a very beautiful sight , Some are bigger than the sun And some just want to run, The stars are very cool, Maybe some people think stars rule, The stars hang on nothing, yet
You went blank on the line between sand and water, between seizure and assault. The tribes have unwrapped their torches, they are coming in numbers. Who was going on trial? Fierce fidelity is demanding vendetta. The drummer announces the fight.
(1) A flower is a colorful scrabbling over a garden’s cheeks and a flying kiss into air. (2) A flower is a state of confusion, whenever a stigma erects up into a silky bed. (3) A flower is martyrdom on
Tousling the opulence was not modesty. Who will adore the clan? I am not yet ‘me’, the refuge of elevated moon. The heat and dust of nascent money was burning like a loud prayer in dark sun. Perfection tends to
After shaking off the fault the golden thigh ruptured and I moved into the aneurism of a drop. Realization was the key to enter the curve of a moving circle. The time had come to take off the jacket and
When you have been for long hanging into a strange nothingness, you begin to feel your floating hinges creak. Decide, decide, decide. Because everyone knows what they want from their lives (it’s believed). But creaking hinges are good I say,
Believe not in yourself when your mind is not stable You Pardon yourself when mistake is done unknowingly You blame yourself when knowingly you committed mistake You praise yourself when you have helped somebody in need You feel yourself proud