Poetry Quotes - Page 89

Rusted FlowersFrom her heart’stear-salted soil,rusted flowers grew.A serrated beauty;wounding all those who bent near.

Sacred space in whichTo distil, like amber,The best of your love.

What will you do now with the gift of your left life?

And here face down beneath the sunAnd here upon earth's noonward heightTo feel the always coming onThe always rising of the night

I am a poem in progresswith no clear beginning or endingjust a middleuntended, unintended,unfinished, hanging therelike the breath before a question

It was quite a beautiful thing, the way we simply just came to be, with no effort or trying and slowly we found each other’s hands in the dark. No chains or promises, just a simple sign of hopethat things will go on and get betterand that things and people and views are still out there, yet to be found.

I see specks of the Universe in your eyes.A body of stardustthat gives me a high.And when we make lovethe stars shine brighter than usual.When we lie there holding each other, I see love making us.

I blind myself to see the bright fireplace radiating skin piercing warmth. The yellow illuminating a lonely light that unites with the red to create an ambiance so comforting. They burn and hush, they rise and fall, they breath and devour together in synch; creating a bond, a bond thicker than blood, forged by love and held together by an insurmountable friendship. You cannot separate them, you'll burn. She is red, he is yellow and they are fire

No crime is a means to an end. No crime can be rationalized.

this life has been a landscape of painand still,flowersbloom in it.

Where do the words gowhen we have said them?

Though much is taken, much abides; and thoughWe are not now that strength which in old daysMoved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;One equal temper of heroic hearts,Made weak by time and fate, but strong in willTo strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

In all the flames of fire fume’s left the traceInto the bluest sea the sky is drownedThe miracles of life can you embraceFrom the poem 'Can You Embrace?

So this is what I amPondering his eyes that could notConceive that I was a creature to run fromI who have always believed too much in words

I write what I love.I will not stop – even when my hand hurts….…. because I cannot stop – even though my heart hurts….

I was asked once why I write poetry. I said, why do you breath?

never trust anyone who says they do not see color. this means to them,you are invisible.

Hold your venomDo you recognise the instinctin me, fellow scorpion?

The gilded spiralOf longings within.Our very own cathedralThat points persistently to heaven.

Love frees us of all pain, or of any restraint. Once a circle that ever widens without end. Various colors it shines in our lives to paintExcelsis, glorious manifestation to befriend.

You have my life,My heart,My soul in your hands

Look deeper through the telescopeand do not be afraid when the starscollide towards the darkness,because sometimes the most beautifulthings begin in chaos.

A single poemis worth a hundredcozy winter nightskind wordsand healed wounds.

Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.

Had I only known my lettersWould be of such importanceI’d empty myself on paperEvery single morning’And it was for such reason,as she read his little stanza,that she decided to stamponefinalletter:‘Every single morningI’d empty myself on paperYou were my greater importanceThat’s why I wrote you letters.

God is busy and has no time for you.

I live on in the sweetness of old dayswith strangers who build new dwellingson blue hills up to the edge of the sky,I talk softly with the captured treesand comfort them sometimes.How slowly time consumes the core of things,and soundlessly treads fate’s heavy heel.

I live not in dreams but in contemplation of a reality that is perhaps the future.

The land, that thou see now to have root, shall thou see wasted suddenly.

Is Bliss then, such Abyss,I must not put my foot amissFor fear I spoil my shoe? I'd rather suit my footThan save my Boot --For yet to buy another Pairis possible,At any store -- But Bliss, is sold just once.The Patent lostNone buy it any more --

Our love is immortal. We have become a love story. I siphoned the moments from my heart and soul, and I have inked them into beautifully bound pages. We live on for another generation to try and understand how the beauty of love can turn into ugly reality.

Roses have thorns,’ we whine. When thorns of life entwine. Simple things can bring solace to heart-Things everyone take for granted-Like tending beds of fragile roses-with heart full of scars

What wonder will I accomplish today? And how will it tie in to tomorrow and tomorrow, so that I may live as the hero I want to be? And today how will I seek and find the opportunity that scares me? An opportunity that has me harness some elements within that I may cross over the bridge into the other side of my existence; the one that’s begging to be unsettled, that greets the morning before the sun with a ferocious will to rise up, to inspire, to create laughter and tears from the uncovering of the magical self and the relief that I have given in to the excitingly scary, omega point pull to evolve.

The poet is a faker / Who's so good at his act / He even fakes the pain / Of pain he feels in fact.

A loving woman finds heaven or hellOn the day she is made a bride

I may be lost, but I'm traveling the right way.

Immortal amarant, a flower which onceIn paradise, fast by the tree of life,Began to bloom; but soon for man's offenceTo heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows,And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life,And where the river of bliss through midst of heavenRolls o'er elysian flowers her amber stream:With these that never fade the spirits electBind their resplendent locks.

Imagination makes the worldand all the wonders in it.The seed of every dream unfurlsas you with love begin it!

Like as thou canst do none of these things that I have spoken of, even so canst thou not find out my judgment, or in the end the love that I have promised unto my people.

or else I would have sung a songin response to what the male sex sings.For our lengthy past has much to sayabout men's lives as well as ours

The purpose of poetry is to remind us / how difficult it is to remain just one person...

There is a wilderness we walk aloneHowever well-companioned

Life is only a flicker of melted ice.

When shall I get to kiss thee?’ I asked.‘By all means you can forever ask,’ she answered.‘Your lips ask a heavy price,’ I said.‘It’s a fair exchange of one so fair,’ she said.‘What lips are worthy for your mouth and lips?’ I asked.‘Only the discerning can this secret know,’ she answered.‘Don’t worship idols, be with the Truth,’ I said.‘In the Way of Love, both are allowed,’ she said.I said, ‘The tavern helps to heal the heart.’‘Blessed are those who heal the lonely heart,’ she answered.‘It’s not religion, the priestly robe, the wine,’ I said.‘But to the gnostic both lead to the Divine,’ she answered.‘What use to an old man of youthful lips?’ I asked.‘By such sweet kissing, he grows young!’ she answered.‘When shall the bridegroom embrace the bride?’‘When the stars are that way inclined.’I said, ‘The prayer of Hafiz is for His glory.’‘This is the prayer of angels too, in heaven,’ she answered.

Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.

my dear,we are all made of water. it's okay to rage. sometimes it's okay to rest. to recede.

I came to explore the wreck. / The words are purposes. / The words are maps. / I came to see the damage that was done / and the treasures that prevail.

Behold yon rough and flinty roadWhere youth, now youth no more,Gropes whining, seeking crumbs of loavesHe cast away of yore.

hough we travel the whole over to find the perfect match,we must carry it with us a light or it's playing hard to catch.

What if the poem loses?What if it never tastes victory like the intent it was written with?

I wish I could run into the world’s arms. Linger within the spaces between nothing. I wish I could filter out of existence. To live quietly without dying. I wish I could be cherished by life itself. To speak and sing volumes without lying to myself.

A strange feeling of lonelinessAdrift near the blue canvasYou may stare long and listen deepYet not know whether sea-shore or sea-snore!

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you.

Our lives may not have fit together, but ohhh did our souls know how to dance...

Chaos,leave me never,keep me wildand keep me freeso that mybrokenness will be,the only beautythe world will see.

I can blend words easily with my pen, and show concepts from deep within. Yet not everyone gets the message I send. So why do I even let these words begin? Maybe they will soak in one day at the right time. When the readers on a new path to find. So for now I'll continue to drop ink and not worry about what other people think.

It is very good, Wisehammer, it's very well written, but it's too-too-political. It will be considered provocative.""You don't want me to say it.""Not tonight. We have many people against us.""I could tone it down. I could omit 'We left our country for our country's good.'""That's the best line.

I went down to the river,I set down on the bank.I tried to think but couldn't,So I jumped in and sank.

Do you pray for our world or just your world? If all your prayers were answered, would it change our world or just your world?

It is sweet to think I was a companion in an expedition that never ends