Transient poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of transient poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on transient are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
A child who was more of the trees, Than of any man I knew, Whose laughter tinkled in the breeze, And mingled in the dew. Oft In the speckled summer shade, Pleasant dark and divine, In the beauteous forest glade,
Part I Has the spring of poetry faded away? In a deluge of falling leaves, When the shadows and lights are at play, Like transient doubts and beliefs. Have words become faceless apparitions, Gazing into the boundless night, At ancient
How quickly this dark hour has descended. I find myself cornered in this room with death. Visitors come and go in somber procession. I see them as if from a great distance. When finally alone with you…. probably for the
There‘s no power strong enough to halt this motion Thus, the universe, hinged upon a transient axis in her cosmos plane, spin and revolves in an infinite motion But not moving forward, thus days and years were born All substances
Compassion, so precious a gift Incomparable to all earthly things So transient and dismally brief Compassion, a myriad of tears Seeing the hungry, desolate and grieving A wish to share their pain and fears Compassion, an opening of the heart
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
You’re my personal brand of cocaine, surely you should suppress the suffering and numb the pain. My rose petal lips are engulfed in your kiss of death. I worship at your feet, when I have you, who really needs meth?
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.
These wondrous creatures With graceful feathers Painted so beautifully On the vast canvas Of the earth and sky Models of Nature’s sublime art Emanating pleasure and wonderment Perpetually . As if deeply dipped in colors Made in Nature’s own secret
A transient smile lights up a moonless landscape, catalyzing the woes of labour of hot arguments. A fragile peace prevails. When the plot thickens let me count the bodies in the domain of a wasted god. Meanwhile I will get
A word amidst verses, Coming to life briefly When the reader leases His mind and time solely. That moment of glory, Is transient like you; An unknown for many Very common for few. Alone it’s no meaning, A tale not
Page 1. the celebrated sailing frog from Montgomery County went a court’n, or so the tale iz toad to a grand ole mansion built around 1910, and e’en ‘pon being razed ~2012 ah no dummy sea worthiness still plainly showed,
In the tropical section of the Earth, There stays a transient period. Brimful of relief and silence, that thresholds peace to any and all living blood. Then the commitment reverses, and brings a modest scuffle. After a prolonged omnipresent silence,
Being Alive is to feel the breath…that cannot be felt after the death… Being Alive is to feel yourself beyond the senses…that capture your spirit in all the instances… Being Alive is to feel the real you…feeling the consciousness, pruning
On the transient cage-like throne Amidst columns of arms and might, The regalia holds the unwieldy sceptre….. Lust and lavishness drag him to loot Fiefdoms torn and patched; Fear drives him to frighten others The ‘should be patriarchal arms’ Instead
Beloved houses die in essence, Beloved people in mass. These treasures seem to balance. Upon infinitesimal hours. For houses die subtle silent deaths, Like furtive fading seasons. Like shadows of dimming lengths, As the fugitive sun hastens. They die –
(1) When I used to be a coal-black ink over a snowy paper, she said: “your letters are locks, your words puzzles”. When I spoke with the remains of my string, she said: “your letters are plough blades wounding the
Alone in the house Ghosts holding their breath Slick sound of cotton socks On polished floorboards Middle aged man turned young A six year old doing figure eights Music on the stereo Ice cream in elbow crook Family two time
Once upon a sinful past, temptation to trade the soul. Riches beyond that can be perceived andcvulnerable with lust for control. What is a soul if not old, mine is shiny and new and a souls cost, a pretty penny
I watch storm clouds drag themselves over broken city skylines. Listen to their thundering hearts, beat the promise of the malign. The frigid touch of rain, falling from a million hollow eyes. I wait and wish for my demise. In
Blood was in season, on your hands. A staged encounter mauling the clouds. Into a hare, you put the lead with a roar of gun and sun wants his share. Beneath the honours lies the guilt of a ravaged moon.
Your fangs open like lips. I am ready for the kiss of death at a war zone, where I was adrift holding the flame, moments stabbed by hot bullets. Black and white words break the embrace, I cannot study the
Surrendering to- Which they have no control over, Each day they are together- Every time they look at one another, They give each other a part of themselves. Whispering promises of tomorrow- Her dreams, his wings- In the embrace they
I lay in bed Listening to the hammering rain Pit pat pit pat Beating on the window pane I gaze at these racing drops Hitting a different note each fall Spreading the fragrance in the air Of their rendezvous with
I took a good few Viscous glugs, that Night. My mother’s breakdown Was getting to me and My pity was destroying Me from the intestines, up. Couldn’t be Christian guilt, Surely? But I felt good again – Her wringing hands
When he was I, And I was he. We laid crying in the desert sands. Holding hands. Our friends burning nearby. The cities burning in the sky. Laughing, he squeezed my hand. Crying, he squeezed the trigger. Oh, how we
Are you educated? Have you an injured heart? Have you a purified brain? Do you believe in truth? Are you alone? Do you seek problematic truth, solvable truth, real magic? Are you a secular person? Do you believe in democracy?
When I am alone in the ocean I can hear the echoes of my thoughts; they reflect off of seamless undulations of the majestically powerful sea. The alluring waves placate my subconscious – as if a doting mother rocking a