Poetry Love Quotes

Do you love me enough that I am allowedto be damaged? Do you love me enough that I am allowed to be weak in some places?

Mislaid flame of tender emotionsRekindled.Together we live to the point of tears,I wouldn’t want it any other way.

How might I get over this? How would I be able to overlook the way he used to be with me? How could I overlook that his fingers touched my indiscernible soul before it twisted my nipples? How might I overlook his essence that still is in my garments? Despite everything, I still hear you saying that you love me. Though I know you don't.

When I feel too much and the universe aches inside of me.

Watch, how the sunslowly risesfrom behind my earnew lines, new countriesspring up in my palmsmy rough hairbecome swaying silkand all the leavesin my bodybecome lusher than fruits.

You are the mark on my liquid heartwhere love begins with the beginning’s startYou are the desire of the ablaze fires the only truth from ten-thousand-liarsFrom the poem- A Letter to My Love

In the Light of your Wisdom, You Shine. In the Midst of your Truth, Your Faith is Evident. From inside your Spirit, You are Love.

All she captures is a moment and what she calls it is a memory,Sometimes, it is assumptions that we use; all we need is a theory,Because you don’t know what is there in the future,And all you need is a vision to make a perfect picture.I feel that I have known you for a century,And whatever she calls is a memory.

Thy's bleeding heart confides in the With one's thoughts and troubles Let the kiss thy's lips To ease thou's pain Thy am thou's comfort Lie thou's head on mine pillow Of soft consolation And let the drown Thou's sorrow Away

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

Chimerical words, the words were written,Some are wasted; some are still on the page,Tattered words, the words were written,Some are young, some are aged,Gloomy words, the words were written,Some are unspoken, some are told,Words were hurt, though they can heal,Words are breathless, though can feel,Words won hearts, words shattered hearts,Words lost battles, words won wars,Wars within, words had scars.

You are my reality, fantasy, daydream, fairytale, music, more than the princess in Cinderella; you are much more than a traditional myth.

You resting your head tenderly on my shoulders while we sit below the old Oak tree. And we smile at each other and gaze lovingly at the fascinating sunset over the hills. This moment makes me feel completely alive as if we have reached not just cloud nine or ten but also cloud infinity!

Poetry keeps mein a highly drunken stateof divinity.

I need to work on me.The mewithout you.

Everything is all right,When you’re here,When you’re right next to me,When my hand is in yours,Don’t leave me,Don’t leave me empty handed.

I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood,neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eyeI am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in the shadows or the sunshine.

KUNDALINI DANCEDark and cold and wet were Her handsI felt Her chilly breath inside my throatHer claws deep inside trying to find traces ofFear within meI stayed still Accepting Opening ReceivingWithin a moment She was insideTwo fingers below My belly buttonIn there She found no traces of shiversno traces of resistance, no traces of weaknessjust clear pure Passage-WayThen She grew into Her most powerful SelfShe stood undisturbed, unmoved, unchangedTotally free and She screamedAAAAAUUUUUUMMMFrom the centre of the earth, Through the tunnels of the caves, To the surface of the volcanoesAAAAUUUUUUMMMMTo open: Mountain tops untouched by clouds and rainCherry fields in their full blossomA dog running after a train filled with the excitementA witch laughing at passers-by mirroring their paranoiaDeath looking us in the eyes searching for the chosen Few Capable to see the Key behind Her magic veil

I painted for the eyes, and wrote prose for the ears… Between those senses lay the mind and soul… I enjoyed connecting with people’s deepest thoughts, their hopes and dreams… My pen and brush were tools to achieve my artistic desired effects.

Impulsive passion please set me free.

Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.

i am permanentlytannedin the summer of poetry.

Bridge burned from end to end,and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

If my like for you was a footy crowd, you'd be deaf cos of the roar.And if my like for you were a boxer, there'd be a dead guy lying on the floor.And if my like for you were sugar, you'd lose your teeth before you were twenty. And if my like for you was money, let's just say you'd be spending plenty.

Understand the poem not the poet.

Through windows,in wishing wells,whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

Men take care of your responsibilities with maturity.

A poem in the heart is worthmore than a million dollarsin the bank account.

When you find yourself writing, reading, or listening the delivery of words when spoken? You know the melody of wordplay. “& I love Wordplay

sometimes i am not sure.if i am writing the poemor the poemis writing me.

I wish that I could fly into the sky and touch the clouds with my hands.

I balance you on the end of my pen.Teetering between loveand letting go.

Thou doth not know the tragedy of a tale between two hearts till the tears of a forgotten love dissolve into the scars of yearning and seep through the cracks of the broken, leaving behind a trail of crimson for all but one to see.

The day came when she discovered sex, sensuality, and literature; she said, 'I submit! Let my life be henceforth ruled by poetry. Let me reign as the queen of my dreams until I become nothing less than the heroine of God.

Your words... I hold them deeplike ancient skinshold wrinkles.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

I do not just want you at your best.I almost do not carewhere your Happiness lives,but please,let me visit your pain?Take me to the placewhere your sadness goes,and show me the tragedythat no one knows.

Hold my hand,and let me catch your paceEven if i'm last,you on first; we both won the race

They call it poetry, what she feels with her mouth closed. By his.

His pen spoke more to her than he ever did”.In the war of words, some are unwritten and some are unspoken.

we met one strange summerin a regular tangle of sticky websyou had the air of angels sweet but I--drowned with the damned spiritsin lava oceans fearing your--foreign static frequency and grey-green eyes(I swear they are even if you--think otherwise): stormscalm ones, calmer than my--raging coals, empty and deadyou speak of souls like you believealways an optimist in pessimisticskin of ivory and titanium mesh...

Many women have tried to compare to you, but they are only flawed imitations. You deserve the worlds admiration.

Your love intoxicates me into an intoxication of intoxicating intoxication.

We quenched the bulging flame, amongst the ashes embers of fire remain

My words are my children. I am eternally grateful to the womb of my mind for conceiving them.

If I cannot fix your broken heart can I put mine in its place, because these stars are not enough, and all the money in the world does not equal your worth.

I die a little,In the echo of your silence.

We had scar-tissueromance and ours wasa relationship of sayinggoodbye—every timewe fought, every timewe fucked, and every timewe called it quits, beforepicking up our knivesagain

She asked me the definition of beauty. So I told her name in my reply!

thighs made of hymns, I read 'em like I'm reading runes. Now tell me where my future lies...your neck, can I Savion on it?

A good woman comes in all shapes and colors.When you find her, adore her.

And like nectar inside the bud,my blood drinks from your blood, beloved,and starves to join the salvation in your eyes;to be understood again and again, by your nakedness and certainty, a humbleness that trickles into the crevices of my seasoned mind.

And while she was fire,So fierce and so wild,I could only hope to be for her;The forests and the winds to carry her flame.

Don't compare her to sunshine and roses when she's clearly orchids and moonlight.

In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.

Your love is like star sky showers and magenta unicorns.

And perhaps, I'm a Tuesday night and you're a Wednesday morning the way we'll never even notice how we blend into each other.

And they can’t understand, what hurts more— Missing the other person, or pretending not to.

I heard the breeze whisper your name to the trees. And the flowers giggled smiling at the leaves. I and my loneliness keep talking about you.

Joys circular fulfillment was so persistent, when I was weak it gave me strength.