Short Poem Quotes

Why this candle?Why this cake?The day of my birth is not today.I was born when you said, 'Hey.

You just wait.Soon, lovers all over the worldwill be reciting poems dedicated to you.This is my promise.

Kamand, die every dayso you rememberto live.

When you are here, God is near.

Sometimes the grass gets mowedat the house where the writer lives.

I wonderif you ever read my poemsand wish they were writtenfor you.

Impatience kills quickly.

These poems are cupsthat I pour my life into.Here, Drink!

If your mind can move mountainsand swallow gods,Why does it worry with helpless yesterdays and unborn tomorrows?If it can vomit starsand walk on split hairs,Why must it follow the samepath to despair?Everyone will tell you:'An orgasm here is just as good.

Symphony of the airmy ear can hearmy only companiona rocking chairsilence is masterwishing you were here.

All this waiting.Waiting for the rain to stop. Waiting in traffic. Waiting for the bill. Waiting at the airport for an old friend.Waiting to depart. Then, there’s the big waiting: waiting to grow up. Waiting for love. Waiting to show youryour parents that when you have kids you’ll be different. Waiting to retire. Waiting for death. Why do we think waitingis the antithesis of lifewhen it is almostall of it?

We grow old judging othersAnd ourselvesUntil life humbles usAnd makes scared children of usLonging to hold another’s handTo hear their kind words And witness their kind deeds done on our behalf.But like children,We sabotage everythingFor nothing satisfies usUntil life crumbles usAnd we are no more.

The only unchanged by psyheeL :-It rains it dries the world rotateThey come and they go it's a common fateHuman love is a colored silk , it must fadeAnd even it's darkest of shade Misery and joy it's a constant change but Between sorrows and jollity something unchanged Nature, my love ; It remains the same.                                

What happens when I love, you ask, does the world start making sense? No, my dear, it does not. But it won’t matter to you then.

free from ivory-towerthe pencil twirlsacross the footpath