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Metaphor Quatrain Poems | Quatrain Poems About Metaphor

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

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Yellow Shoes in the Darkness

Walking through the land of shadows 
wearing my yellow shoes
With each and every step
I created color and hues

The shadows started retreating
As color permeated the ground
Out of the darkness
I heard a horrible sound

"You do not belong here
I command you to go away
You are in the land of darkness
You must listen to what I say"

I kept on moving forward
Not sure what I would see
Where was the voice coming from
I looked behind a tree

Light and color expanded
Traveling up to the skies
The entity that scared me
Was right before my eyes

As my shoes banished the darkness
The entity was reduced to tears
Without the aid of shadows
He couldn't tap into my fears

I reached down to touch him
I told him he was safe
He looked up with confusion
As I gazed upon his face

"Are you here to destroy me?
Have you come to take me away?
There is a purpose for shadows
They create hope for brighter days."

I heard what he was saying
The shadows have their reason
In order for spring to come
We need a darker season

So I removed my yellow shoes
Watched as the shadows returned
It was time for me to go home
With this strange lesson I had learned









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Let Me Go

You have caged me for too long
I want you to just let me go,
I have to spread these feathered wings
I need to feel the wind's blow.

You know that I love you truly
I said that I would never leave,
I want to see the rain's dance
Not just sit here and perceive.

The scene never changes, day after day
I want to go where white roses bloom,
I have never seen an ocean's wave
And neither have you, I assume.

I need to see the autumn tree's change
I want to see the snowflake's glisten,
I am wishing on the stars as they fall
This is my dream, so please just listen.

I want to fly in the sky's blue
I need to feel the sun's burn,
When I have experienced these wonders
I promise that I will return.




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You Reap What You Sow

If you sow seeds of kindness,
Then kindness is what you'll reap.
If you sow seeds of forgiveness,
You'll reap untroubled sleep.

If you sow seeds of anger,
of hatred or discontent,
You'll reap a crop of violence,
Discord and evil intent.

If you sow seeds of brotherly love,
Then love you will receive,
But if wickedness is what you sow,
Then wicked you will be.

The lesson here is pretty clear:
You reap just what you sow.
Therefore, strive to sow only good seeds,
And spread them wherever you go.

2/13/13
Kim Merryman
For SandyIvy's Seed contest


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Kaleidoscope Dreams

Green…you always reflected in my peripheral
And kept watch as I tried to color my world
But there I lay in my blacks and my blues,
lifeless and faltering In monotone hues.

Through kaleidoscope eyes, I envisioned my skies
But the pot at the rainbow was storybook lies
so with nothing to gain and nothing to lose,
I just shuffled around In my blacks and my blues.

Never did I imagine you!, Green… to be my savior
But there you arose, out of my dark abyss
With your bottle green dress and scarlet kiss
Your emerald  green eyes and unbridled bliss.

Now my kaleidoscope dreams have all been unfurled
Since you Green, have colored my world
You rescued my heart, Green
You rescued my heart.


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The Welfare Poem

The welfare poem is not for you
and not enough for anyone.
The welfare poem is very small
and not just given to everyone.

It's not enough to read for long.
It's just a little short.
It's not paid much attention to
and not the longing sort.

With thanks there's those who'll get it.
Those of who deserve it.
It's just some stolen words,
though I would soon forget it.

It's filled with much disgrace.
Those wary as they read.
It may be meant for you
if you accept the need.

I hope you have enjoyed it.
I'll cut you off for now.
But if you want more later
just beg there's more somehow.


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Echo

Many voices from the past,
Always echoing in my head,
How long can it last,
I thought you were dead.

You always tell me what to do,
So I don't make a mistake,
Somehow you always knew,
How many I could make.

Because once I hurt you,
And you'll never let me forget,
But what can I do,
You're not quite dead yet.

Why won't you leave me alone,
Will you never forgive me,
I wish I could atone,
Please, just let me be.

The hollow echo of your voice,
Will linger on forever,
You've given me no choice,
It'll never stop, ever.

The sound of you used to make me smile,
But now it tortures me,
I will always be in denial,
So an end I'll never see.





Written by: Kelly Deschler

Giorgio V.'s contest - "Impress Me 2" -  themes-gothic/spiritual


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The Door

Noah’s ark was real not a fiction
It had a door to escape God’s affliction
Noah delivered a warning message
But the folks mock their own presage

Men grew in sin and matured in transgression
And ignored Noah’s loving confession
The Door stood open a long time
Until time begin to climb

The Lord finally shut the Door
And the rain begin to pour
120 years of grace finally came to a halt
God administered judgment by default

The Door was a glorious type of Christ
He was the Lamb of God who was price
Jesus said “I am the Door of the sheep”
He is the only Door of that Great ship

Jesus is our Door of salvation
Wherein we enter and float as new creation
Behold He stands at your door this day and knock
Let Him in, you’ll find pasture as a partaker of His Holy flock

Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep- John 10:7


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Beyond Salvage

An old herbal gard’ner turned bard
dedicated and well-versed
now works his pen from his backyard
in plants and poems immersed.

His choice nouns engender meaning
cleverly minted with scents.
Rare verbs gingerly gleaning
from time’s savory essence.

Somewhat focused on composing
but nettled by a drizzle;
unexpected down-hosing
causes his brain to fizzle.

Lo! His inspiration now gone
like the ink upon his page.
Mrs. Bard calls from the lawn
“I just watered the sage.”


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Rainbow

Struggles and success, Sufferings and happiness, Dreams and Goals building to life; Like colours of the rainbow making light.
A blessed day for you my dear readers :) Cheer Up, God bless


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Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
this flower bed,
is just for you.

Among the stone,
and in the mud,
a flower shone,
a beautiful bud.

It grew so tall,
proud and strong,
it learned all,
right and wrong.

Giving it water,
and warm sun,
your only daughter,
learned about fun.

Mommy come see,
look what I did,
now I can be,
a grownup kid.

This flower bed,
is just for you,
with roses, red,
and violets, blue.




Happy Mother's Day, Mom!


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PAINTING LIFE

You have led me     beside the azure seas
to see the crimson coral     of the fallen leaves
so like the rainbows      that exist within our kin
the colors that lay      upon our souls within
 
There drifts our souls       in  the shades and hue
where we slip the streams       of the colors blue
or light their soul      in softest shades of yellow
when in company as       delighted companions fellow
 
Or quietly lay in shells      still and tinged of pale grey
like the clouds that hang         within the low of day
or to climb the hills      the foliage with its glistening sheen
are painted trees and meadows      in the depths of green
 
Here in life the blooms         that every spectrum see
and offered us its view      the veneer of  eternity
and not so transparent          the crystals of our glass
and our lives the shadows           of pigments cast
 
The cosmetic gloss         that we can wear like makeup
that dyes the actions     which our souls we take up
some like varnish     are just cover for what is dull
like the iron and the steel     that contains our hull
 
But the tints     that wash and stain our soil
can be the colors    swirling within the gleams of oil
where they run together    as the eddy's in the water
there each soul its    colors is contained a single star   

COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC


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The Butterfly Emerges

From the dark cocoon, the butterfly emerges,
Finally realizing she cannot control her urges,
To witness the beauty of the midnight moon,
The butterfly emerges, from the dark cocoon.

She flew from the shadows, out into the daylight,
The colors on her wings had never shone so bright,
She was meant to be here, her brave heart knows,
Out into the daylight, she flew from the shadows.

No more sitting alone, back in her little room,
No more hiding in dampness, darkness and gloom,
She had finally found a friend to call her own,
Back in her little room, no more sitting alone.




Andrea Dietrich's contest - "Swap Quatrains. Let's See What You've Got!"


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WHAT IF I WERE ROBIN HOOD

What if I were Robin Hood
and Dave Wood was just a street name?
What if I were sick of an industry/kingdom
that's brought so much wealth and fame?
What if?

What if I got tired of fighting Prince John
just to have a bigger piece of the pie?
What if I long for more than Locksley
and in fact I'm more than meets the eye?
What if?

What if while you pen your next poem
you unknowingly hum a lyric I wrote?
What if I really needed a sabbatical
some time to clear this mind and throat?
What if?

What if the truth started leaking out
like warm tears from a broken heart?
What if here in the midst of Poetry Soup
I started feeling like I was a part?
What if?

What if I were dying inside to tell you
like a confession I really felt like I could? 
What if it wasn't about Sherwood Forest
all along it had been to save Robin Hood?
What if?

What if a simple poem contest for glory
brought more riches than all the bling?
What if I've fallen hard for sweet Marian
to reveal myself could ruin everything?
What if?

What if all my new friends I read everyday 
now feel closer than even Little John?
What if I decided to tell Will and Friar Tuck
no, not tonight but tomorrow at dawn?
What if?
What if?

Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Contest Name: Robin Hood
Date: 4-20-14
Form: Quatrain


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The rose that grew from concrete

Many a mind hurries past
the gripping splendour
in search of beauty, not to last,
while continuing in rejection of grandeur.

I look as the moments pass
at the wounded walkway.
The sand flows through the hourglass
and time conforms to seconds and seconds to day.

There, in the heart of pain,
at the crack of dawn
grows through the mundane,
purity, life’s mystery in an image drawn

Red bursts open in colours array
but expectation it defied
as time had not intended bloom ‘till the following day
and still nature’s scarlet tears are cried.

Dusk was meant to encompass
the brooding gem in the snows
but the bud unfolded in its stubbornness
and yet not its pedals froze.

I suppose the dark of night
and the bitterness of day
could not smite 
what would have its own way.

The bud grew beautifully in strength
and blossomed in wisdom,
knowledgeable in great length,
yet its leaves forbade a future grim.

Somehow it lacked endurance
and what blind humanity refused to meet
became the trampling of our innocence:
the rose that grew from concrete.


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The kings of the night

The seemingly tranquil sky
blooming with stars soon
pierced by a distant cry
that seems to swoon.

Beneath dense trees standing tall
to touch dark canvas painted
after dusk, prowls the epiphany of all
mother nature’s tainted.

The wise are often alone
and the dangerous hated, 
but they express in moan
their solitude, once more grated.

Gradually their voices unite
in a song across the valley, 
seeming to smite
all of innocence’s nest.

The moon in her splendour moves
to comfort the carnivores that commence, 
and yet her beam soothes
not the beasts’ sense.

Torn between wrong and right
the moon spreads her swanlike wings amidst
the howls of her lovers, the kings of the night…
among the wolves in the mist. 


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Angel in Hell

Sorrow chokes sanity
in the brimstone fumes of Hell
that consumes all but memory
plastered against the walls of his cell.

My mind can't comprehend...
Perhaps he did wrong
or mercy he did not lend,
but here resides the angel of song.

His wings are torn,
tattered like his serenity
when he fell into heat's scorn.
Once he was beauty's epiphany.

The shofar's sound dwindled
to let screams take stage.
The music he once kindled
turned against him in bloody rage.

Yet he will rise once more.
The fallen creature in his cell
and will play a new music's score
telling of the angel in Hell.


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A Labor Of Love


I look you up and look you over, 
better days have left you far behind, 
you're older, but to me you're still appealing, 
yet you draw comments that are less than kind. 

You're neglected, not consulted, 
when an answer is required, 
hidden now behind the others, 
avoided, disregarded, mired. 

I massage your spine with oil and friction, 
restoring your luster to cherish and keep, 
remembering when you were readily handled, 
sought after, popular, top of the heap. 

I'm so busy these days with my key restorations, 
I scarcely have time, and I don't have a say, 
so you'll have to wait for my deft ministrations, 
a labor of love, postponed for a quieter day. 


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The Pen

The pen's a sword for carving poems.
A wand for measuring beats.
A whip to keep the rhythm
and a stick to tap the tweets.

It's silent to the ear-drums
when heard inside the head.
Words firmer than my chin bone
in notes from what seems dead.

It points to things I question
and scribbles errors I make.
And when it writes some new stuff
forgives me my mistake.

At rest upon my paper
it signals that I'm done.
And when I go to grab it
I'll click it just for fun.


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Voice of the rejected

From the pits of society's regards
I hear a cry.
Subtly breathing into oblivious hearts,
an anonymous sigh.

Singing melodious sorrows,
a still, small voice in the darkness.
A drum of war to whom luxury bestows,
yet a beacon for kindness.

Discarded bones regain their flesh
and the mindless their searches cease,
replaced by justice's harmony fresh
and the laughter of the heartless decrease. 

A cry still ringing
louder and louder to be elected
in the court of hearing,
the voice of the rejected.


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Streams

You are the air that I breathe
The sunshine on my cheek
But a shadow of a dream
Mi belle magnifique


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Aging Heart

Time runs fast when we are young,
As fast as human eyes can blink.
Turn away and there it goes,
What youth we have will slowly sink.

It runs with legs that won’t tire
So that your aging heart may sleep.
Close your eyes and let it fall,
The fruits you’ve reaped are yours to keep.

Does the river dry when you
Have passed the rapids of this ride?
Open your eyes so you may see
The world you’re bound to on this tide.


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Somebody Save Me

Somebody save me.

I'm so far down in the shadowy deep,
Please, somebody just drag me to shore,
Right before I take my eternal sleep,
Because I just can't breathe anymore.

Somebody save me.

Suddenly, in goes the cold knife,
With such an unimaginable pain,
Then out flows all the warm life,
Please, don't let this memory remain.

Somebody save me.

I'm standing right in front of you,
So, why is it that you don't see me,
The reaper is coming closer, too,
I need an angel to set me free.

Somebody save me.

Take me someplace safe and warm,
Out of the darkness of the night,
Hold me, shield me from the storm,
Stay here with me until morning's light.

Somebody save me.

This can't be how my life ends,
I will never be able to stop crying,
It is all over before it begins,
Slowly, I can feel my heart dying.

Somebody save me.


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His Love is a Red Sea

His smile is like sunlight
He moves like poetry
His voice is an Arabian night
His love is a Red Sea


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Field Of Vision



You've all heard the phrase “field of vision” What we see with the naked eye But some things that are beyond our vision Have effects on both you and I Must always try reading between the lines Where real meanings often hide People are not always honest and up front Sometimes they take you for a ride Most refrain from hurting other's feelings But some have a nasty streak Hidden meanings aren't always that obvious Don't get fooled by doublespeak So try getting down to the real meaning Look past your “field of vision” It will ultimately save you a big ton of grief Make it your lifelong mission © Jack Ellison 2013


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The Fool

He always listened, hardly spoke a word
He heard everything but was hardly heard
Advice he never gave, counsel he never sought
“Good or bad, it`ll all soon pass”, he thought

All in one – newborn babe, man, woman, and child 
With eyes wide open, in his innocence he was wild
A gentle warrior animated by glorious grace
Life was a gift he`d gratefully, blindly embrace

Animated by a breath of heavenly heat and fire
He`d never tire to aspire higher and higher 
He was of the sun – and a son of heaven 
Hardships, strife, adversity were to him leaven

Head in the clouds, feet hardly touching the ground
Looking up, oblivious to the world around
When he ran out of ground he’d walk on air
Follow him you fools, if you dare