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Introspection Metaphor Poems | Introspection Poems About Metaphor

These Introspection Metaphor poems are examples of Introspection poems about Metaphor. These are the best examples of Introspection Metaphor poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Sijo | |

Thistle Solitude-- Visual No 1

I had briefly caught sight of the other side of yesterday, blinded by the sun, and weaving through the deep, thistle solitude. I'll carve a path through thorns and flowers, to reach an old memory.
Inspired by Andrea's Contest: Glorious Sijo Fields 1/31/15 Visual Number 1

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Free verse | |



Walking alone
Often outside
In deep thought
About things of
Great importance.

I wonder aloud
Thoughts amassed
Priorities now
Solutions not clear
Seeking inspiration.

Time’s fleeting
Which is always
Tied to many
Dynamic actions
Begging resolution.

I stop now—
And look heavenward
Solutions abound
Choices are difficult
I’m staying focused.

Use my intuition
Request divine help
Do Nothing
Take your pick
Nothing’s easy.

My soul’s focus
Trust yourself—
First and foremost
God speaks silently
Do it now!              

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
(January 27, 2015) (Accentual Meter)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Couplet | |

Moon Light Moon Night

We hold hands walking under the bright beam of God’s Moon Light,
And stop and kiss so intently in the soft cradle of the dark Moon Night.

The passion and rapture together we feel so on this cold black night,
Is reflected and majestically warmed by the touch of the Moon Light.

I look lovingly into your eyes on this quite special dark Moon Night,
Marveling at the love so reflected in your eyes by the Moon Light.  

This is an enchanted sight to behold by All who love the Moon Light, 
Reflecting the beauty and meaning while savoring all the Moon Night.

A deep Cosmic Blackness pervades the canvas of this great Moon Night,
While God’s grace and love pleasure us with a most bright Moon Light.

Almighty God in Heaven gently modulates the tone of this Moon Light,
Bringing constant wonder and glory to All on this most dark Moon Night. 

My love and I now understand the mystical meaning of this Moon Light,
As we ponder and hold so special God’s emotion felt on this Moon Night.  

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(October 19, 2014) (Rhyme Couplet poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Light Poetry | |

Grey Skies are Raining Poets

Is this a poem?
I will let poets decide
I read here, words and prose
How is it possible
Such ingenuity, over and over
Expressions of the heart
Kindness exposed
Bitterness sits in the cold
Poetic wisdom's
Lovers shedding words
Lost souls attacking verbs
Poets in mourning
Deep and emotional losses
Opening the gates of heaven
For the bereaved and forlorn
Poets dancing
Poets crying
Poets who dance and cry
Add some spiced rum and tears
Poets who ponder why?
Poets who offer comfort
Random words of the charitable order
Poets who cannot compose
Yet they are more poetic
Brutal exposure of the heart
Is poetic in its own right
Painters of poetic verse
Who disperse art like candy
I bow my head
In honor of you all

My last request
When that dark omen of death arrives
There shall be a poetic funeral
I shall write nor speak no more
Of lovers and poets
Drunk with words
You all, hoist some cheer
I wish to be surrounded
With poets
As all of you

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Verse | |

One Autumn Day

As the wind ripped the leaves from the trees
I thought of you
As I stood there like those trees
Stripped of all their glory
Their only crime
Giving birth to beauty

I watched them fall
All those brilliant leaves
And knew you could never stop
Poetry in motion.


Written:  September 14, 2014
Author: Elaine George

Copyright © Elaine George

Details | Rhyme | |

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

Every rose has its thorn,
Every person that's born
Is both thorny and sweet as perfume.
So are some when they grow,
As you likely may know,
Naught but thorns, or forever in bloom.

For the bush clad in thorns
The kind gardener mourns,
Yet he cares for them just like the rest;
But the roses that grow
He replants in a row
So the people that walk by are blessed.

If each deed that you do
In a rose garden grew,
Would your branches be roses or thorns?
Would you be on display
Or be hidden away
In the shade of the blackberry thorns?

Would you be but a shrub
That the passersby snub,
Or a rosebush admired by all?
Growing thorn after thorn
Will but heighten the scorn,
But a rosebud is lovely, tho' small.

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst

Details | Free verse | |

Reality's Angel

I am Reality’s angel resting on the broad shoulders of discovery the truth feeds darkness and engulfs its target ideas and concepts in turn become meaningless to you there is a creator of all things He is just and patient many still have fallen into the masses of shadow wrapped in their own filthy idols of philosophy I have seen grown men fall like rose petals and weaklings rise into unjust leaders forever the follower of furtive evil dominating only to remain inferior the most important answers lie in the unseen regions where no sense can fully give assurance the mind that so many unreasonably twist and turn grows weary because of the distance it must take and truth be told the distance is not what frustrates it is knowing we are seeking something far that could very possibly not exist, that our minds can twist into theoretical, idealistic nonsense it is knowing all we really think we know is meaningless and yes—even a lie all that has been written thus far rests under my wings under the warmth in which you refuse to feel can you believe in me— though I am completely unseen? how much more difficult would it be to see Him?

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | Quintain (English) | |

What the Heavenly Angels Above Speak Of

What the Heavenly Angels Above Speak Of

Mankind’s love, passion, and truth on this Earth
Are what the heavenly angels above speak of 
As part of our continuing mortal experience.
No power on this Earth can ever diminish our
Love nor tear asunder the aura of this uniqueness.

Our heavenly dreams and ongoing desire for
Cosmic Awareness are ingrained into our souls 
And our very DNA—forming that rare divine
Wanderlust characterizing humanity’s efforts 
To synchronize its spirituality with God Himself.

This gives us all cause to reflect on and think of
The higher path that brings our hearts and souls
Together as one as we seek our cosmic destiny, 
As part of the Almighty’s plan for us in Heaven.
This is what the heavenly angels above speak of.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 9, 2015 (Unrhymed Quintain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Free verse | |

Cold Beers and Voyeuristic Cannibalism

I’d like to pretend that my hands aren’t dirty 

from the soap of mental suppression,

that the callouses are from hard work,

and not from picking my bones back up

off the floor on a daily basis;

ragged, dry, and weary. 

Every fairy tale has a root,

stapled into the hard soil of truth.

They all have a moral,

some sort of clerical error 

born from life’s shadow. 

We watch, hoping to learn 

from the missteps of someone

else’s intrepid imagination,

some 4D revelation singing

lullabies to the young heart

of humanity.  

And they bend to the fickle 

will of greedy creativity, 

making the yoke less bitter

so that we can tongue the purge

of denial without pouting. 

I’d like to pretend that my hands are clean,

that I don’t whisper cold lies into your palms,

watch you drink from the frosted glass

of my sincerity; Hope that you don’t blink,

that you won’t notice the blood bubbling 

up, and over my shiver before you finally

finish this story. 

I just want you to understand.

This isn’t poison.

This is merely me bleeding out,

and hoping you’ll learn to love the 

taste of fire kissed oxymoronic metaphors,

served up with juiced will and the vegan

flesh of my inhibition.  

So that you can see through my eyes,

know where I have been,

and how it felt to be consumed.

-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.

Copyright © James Kelley

Details | Free verse | |

Like Wingless Birds

I can tell you about the elongated nights.
The pain and agony endured to the soul.
The hammer of reality that aims to chisel at my pride 
until it resembles a statue of anguish and defeat.
The way time and precious seconds taunt you 
when you have hopes of moving forward with life.
Its inconsiderable essence.
The way moments vanish like atheistic faith.
During times of distinct disparity 
its motion reflects that of a shelled gastropod, 
and in the midst of joyous occasion, 
time flows like raging waters.
Waving those moments into occipital entrapment.

I can tell you the feeling of watching all the things 
you love in life pass by like highway signs.
Life drawing me in to intersections 
while I'm chasing hope like a runaway freight train.
Stopping me at red lights while 
opportunity makes every green light 
with time to spare.
The feeling of being a puppet 
at every whim of a deviant puppeteer.
And every day and night is show time.

I can tell you about the tears I never shed 
as they flood my mind with thoughts of guilt 
and overwhelming sorrow.
The moments I lacked sympathy 
and empathy at moments when short phrases 
and warm gestures needed implementation.
Neglected communications as if I were aphasic.
A shy man of few words cursed 
with a heart that speaks volumes.
Sadly guilty of making bad decisions 
and acting maliciously when all I had were good intentions.

I can tell you about the memories that haunt my mind 
like vivid pictures on a slide show on repeat.
The unified heartbeat that once fluttered 
like angel wings have ceased.
And have been buried beneath the soil 
where our love first began to grow.
But the constant battles in this war of love between us 
has degraded the soil, 
inhibiting the possibility of our lost love 
from sprouting from the roots ever again.

I can tell you about the essence of 
moonless nights and starless skies.
The sensation of being engulfed in a tunnel of darkness 
and the only light source stems from an exit miles away.
The despair sometimes feels like I'm gasping for air 
while submerged in the heart of the Artic.
Or thirsting for freedom 
while journeying through the Amazon.
The sure tangibility of dreams like a mirage.
No boundless heights to strive for 
at the core of my eclipsed surroundings.
The epitome of the world seen 
through the eyes of a wingless bird. 
Trying to emulate the gracious flight of Heaven's angels, 
but sometimes the world can be cruel.

Copyright © m.n.i.w m.n.i.w

Details | Free verse | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt

Details | Free verse | |

Generic Minds

generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot 
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine 
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians 
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them

Copyright © Green Trees

Details | Haiku | |

The Internet: Return

A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...

Copyright © Dan Keir

Details | Sestina | |

The Dragon Flight

Atop a jagged pinnacle, he sits, just waiting; ragged wings stretch into flight. Dragon eyes his prey; downward sweep and clasp brings supper for a dragon. We all must face our dragons; climb looming pinnacles. Face-to-face, clasping ourselves; we watch and wait; we are our own prey and can’t escape our truths, in flight. Poetry in flight, is the night dragon. He easily finds prey, from his pinnacle; a patient specter…waiting, with cold talons ready to clasp. Downward swoop and clasp; spreading wings in flight. Tired of perpetually waiting, fearless dragon, with wings obscuring pinnacle; takes unsuspecting prey. There is no hope, for dying prey; wiggling in talon-clasp. Dragon’s spy pinnacle, welcomes him from hunt-flight. Famished dining dragon, welcomes no more waiting. Much too long, in waiting, with no dinner-prey, can leave a thinning dragon in deaths abominable clasp. Angels in celestial flight, will carry him, to Heaven’s pinnacle. When for death, you wait; face your dragon. He’ll give up his prey, for miraculous, spiritual flight. In a death clasp; souls reach the eternal pinnacle.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser

Details | Ballad | |

Broken Dreams

  Do you believe in the things that you've always known,
Can you understand the things you've been shown.
   Is it the visions you see that make you believe,
Or is the feelings you get when you've been deceived.
    The pain you feel a never ending ache ,
Tearing your heart and soul from you every day.
    Time ticks slowly pounding away at you,
Throbbing heart breaking and there's nothing you can do,
    Must I settle for these lost and broken dreams,
Because it has all the signs that what it seems.
    How much should a man endure to find his way,
It cant possibly be like this hard for me every day.
    There is nothing so frustrating as being so confused,
Especially when you've discovered that you've been used.
    I will get through this lonely phase I have no doubts,
But I'm sure there will come a day I'll figure it all out.
    Cautiously I walk the path that's been laid before me,
In faith I will continue for I know he will let me see.
    Life will be thrown at you in so many different ways,
I will be prepared for these things for the rest of my days.
    Broken dreams will be the learning tree for me to grow ,
Living my life with Joy Happiness is what I'll always Know.


Details | Free verse | |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt

Details | Iambic Pentameter | |

Dark Ice

Shadows and murky darkness deep
Describe the depths of lonely hearts
That lie in wait and icy chill
For fiery love to burst in flames;
That empty chests may be refilled
And taste sweet love again!

Copyright © Tara Andre

Details | Free verse | |

Who Am I

A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment 
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.

One after another they arrive
Single file,
Steeping my eyes in the world 
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering 
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.

My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?

Jacob Reinhardt

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt

Details | I do not know? | |

The Beach of Promises

The Beach of Promises


Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,

strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.


Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,

walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.


Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,

lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,

my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,

wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Lyric | |


Let the Deicide commence.

You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.

I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
your failure!

I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways

Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own  personal reality 

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | Light Poetry | |

Poetic Aspirations

Kind poets die
Bitter ones come back to life
Drunken ones have no life
Sober ones write novels not poems
Married ones write of great loves
Single ones, of love lost
Funny ones toss away their poems
...... and join the circus
My cat wrote a poem for a contest
........and Won
I am a very depressed poet
........ and lost
As the eagle soars high in the clouds
……....a great hunter of poetic verse
This poet crawls towards his desk
Another day
Another terrible poem

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Double Dactyl | |

Bryant's Necropolis Conceit

Bryant’s Necropolis Conceit
Silent halls of death so cometh
William Cullen Bryant
Thanatopsis supremeus now
A sepulchre awaits us all.

Dour darkness and shroud forever
The spirit world so beckons us
We all shall so wither and fall.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
(January 15, 2015) (Double Dactyl)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Lyric | |

Lacerated Wings

They are bound to the Earth like trees
Suffocating under the weight of an icy grave 
Reaching to be free, but only their limbs are seen
Hoping that one day someone will see:
They can't escape with lacerated wings

The ocean surrounds me, covering everything
Nothing will be clearly seen; confusion overwhelming
No-one can save you, you're on your own, left to die
Manipulating every bleeding heart you can find
I can't escape with lacerated wings.

Swarms of nets, waves of screams 
Entangle: your captive illusions and dreams
The mask has be seared - The truth now they see
The Liar - Vampiric Fiend; lowly thief
And now they know you can't escape with Lacerated Wings

There's reasons for your rejections:
Your Heavy heart's transferred oppression
The scars are too deep to pass the trials
But you can find peace in your cage of empty spirals
You Cannot Escape With Lacerated Wings

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen

Details | Blank verse | |

The Eye

The eye,a sign the 
unwise can't comprehend
  Forged from the world's 
illumination in darkened 
minds,for the 
enlightened ones like 
Leonardo da Vinci,Isaac 
Newton,John Milton....etc.
   The eye is a tree 
with many branches like 
Priory of Scion,Knight 
Lodge,Music industry, 
Politics,global economy, 
stretching beyond 
human imaginations-felt 
in all corners of earth.
  The world is clothed 
through wisdom from 
   The eye,all seeing 
sign,an invincible 
emblem of power and 
riches to the lion hearted 
and loyal souls.
A seat of influence and 
  Creating the social order 
through men of power....
  Some see it as a 
curse,others a blessing.
  I feel it,the great eye is 
everywhere watching 

Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu

Details | Free verse | |

A Dream

At a moment in my life long, long ago —
I had a dream of an ethereal existence,
Transcending the very mortal bounds of existence.

What a sublime notion worthy of thought;
To be an “Entity” beyond our mortal existence.

My thoughts are there, each and every day;
Moving outside of “Everydayness.” 

What a moment to behold while looking
In the vortex of life:  past, present, future.

Who will be my Sage? my Guide?
Questions pervade my Soul, my Being.

When I awaken will I remember or
Continue living as a one-dimensional person?

My dream world should be my reality.
My real world should be not—or is this so?

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(September 28, 2014) (Free Verse poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Free verse | |

Mirror of the Soul

Gazing into a clear lake pool . . . 
I saw a reflection of my life before me.

The gaze and what I saw depicted . . . 
A progression of past life experiences.

I savored the funny and kind moments . . .
Looked despairingly on the difficult moments.

This gaze into the mirror of my soul . . .
Astounds and confounds me still today.

And the knowledge that we are all . . .
Much more than the sum of our parts,
Means so much more to me today.

What I’ve learned are six things . . .
Ignorance begets Stupidity,
Knowledge begets Wisdom,
Inspiration begets Creativity,
Light begets Illumination,
Passion begets Vivacity,
Love begets Happiness (but not all the time). 

To know yourself . . .
You must see and sense yourself
In the mirror of your own soul.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(September 28, 2014) (Free Verse poetic format)

Copyright © Gary Bateman

Details | Free verse | |

The Real McCoy

He walked outside the mirror of 
And greeted with the purest of 
Confused by this clairvoyant twin, my 
fearful color was intact; 
I awaited his response, and he spoke in familiar 
tongue these following passions. 

He spoke of that Sagittarius moon he 
when the 22nd day presents itself. 
In earlier episodes of himself,
he continuously advanced through blind
with no afterthought of the internal flame, 
potentially burning in his honor. 
He revealed sketches of himself, that await 

The silent preacher remains his 
yet with every curious ear, 
his history is awarded audible. 
He became an unwritten author a 
lifetime ago, 
a sigh of relief was expressed, 
as he became every metaphor, 
thereby regaining those thoughts 
of yesterday. 

He still dreams of that fatherly 
A favorite thought of tomorrow, 
to borrow a voice, from this male 
now absent from land. 

The thought of plural skies visits him 
he’s never forgotten the idea of unity, 
although on occasion, 
it’s faded portrait appears fictional. 
He awaits his inspiration in 

Those white walls that surround him in 
military stance, 
are assumed to be his only company. 
However, he’s confident in his legacy, found in 
similar souls. 

After exposing this identity of truth, he felt 
I too, became a turning stone. 
Before retreating, I asked for the word, that 
complimented his image, 
He simply thought Jiril. 

Copyright © Jiril Clemons

Details | Rhyme | |



Is there a greater focus to determine a greater faith?
Why ask, if you are living the best way?


What is your focus to be?
I ask because a destiny is perceived.


What questions have you not ask?
Bringing forth this knowledge is to introspect.

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Acrostic | |

Your Eyes

 (Dedicated to Folake)

Your eyes, woman
are like twilight rainbow
amorously bearing aloft passions of mine
toward androcytic ecstacy.
They tell of endless lights.

Night skies clarion the warmth of you
keep me balled-up till
i am tilted to your adorned essence.

May I call up words to adore you,
agglomerate them into a panoply of worshippers
unsandalled before you
like Moses at the burning bush.
And now you seem to fall asleep
but you tell me it's the heavy night
bidding toward a sunny dawn
wherein our love is lighted.

Slowly I let you fall asleep
impatient with the long night
waiting to gaze once more
into the eyes of my lovely love.

Then a lip is placed on yours
and you rouse up wide-eyed
smiling at my romantic move.
We enjoyed the night, cruising on.

Copyright © Onis Sampson

Details | I do not know? | |

I Don't Care

I Don't Care...

I don't care,
if you're battered black and blue,

I don't care,
just as long as I can drink and screw.

I don't care,
if you've lost your damn job,

I don't care,
you're just a kernel off the cob.

I don't care,
when I see you begging in the street,

I don't care,
I get to suckle on capitalism's raw teat.

I don't care,
about the elderly, the poor, or the weak,

I don't care,
if the earth will be inherited by the meek.

I don't care,
if the climate is warming, I'm so much cooler,

I don't care,
in my penthouse I'm the boss, the only ruler.

I don't care,
for those rolling for scraps in the muck,

I don't care,

I really don't care, cos' I don't give a f**k

inspired by Bob Geldof's "The Great Song of Indifference"

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses