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
Tonight I’ll drink, I’ll drink tonight to the New Year, to the new “might”, to those who crushed my dreams and flight, to all my hopes that suffered blight. I raise the glass to the New Year, for the new
Through the wrought iron gate, Emblazoned with an ironic promise Of freedom earned through labour. A promise fulfilled only for the lucky few. Within, dull, threatening concrete towers Survey the inner pen, once filled With innocent men and women, Ready
Cereus was in bloom in nightwashed desert, sand was cool, it tipped off the contour drain, a river sent its compliments. If the death was at home, like an estranged lover, will you open the door in dusky stripes of
Daily chores has no place for sentiment each one has plans earmarked for the day Busy person has no time to spare time with near and dear lazy person has no mind to think about near and dear Present generation
Sometimes we face tides, not meant for us And we dare to solve complication,without a fuss In such time of Quandary, keep a mind still Inspire yourself to step up the peak of Hill When someone does not want you
It was a graceful exit with audacious idiocity. A cyclops was going for a dress disaster. Visitation of flesh, mars the beauty. Cheating starts between the pails of tears. I start hitting the planet. Let the bride sleep in fog.
Most people we meet will be friends and not foes (Though truthfully, some people get up our nose!) Those moments together can bless us or blight us But thankfully most of our meetings unite us At times we wear prickles,
You want the girl that wears pretty flowing dresses and floral Vans. Not the girl who wears mismatched brightly coloured trainers With odd socks and jumpers that would be more suited a boy on the Nickelodeon channel in 1996. You
Pity Party Come on down Entry is free With every frown Broken hearts welcomed Depressed souls too Even the desperate And lonely will do There’ll be an endless supply Of self loathing for sure Plenty room for crying On the
Hope’s the life’s driving force, without it,you will just feel remorse. Do not be abject,live life to the fullest, and that what makes you better from the rest. If life’s the heart,then hope is its best, because it is the
The pebbled road beneath my feet feels fresh, The calluses account for the miles they have tread. The path contours my tiny feet, Running patter towards the country fair. Rushing into the mangrove, I feel the wet grass tickle my