These Introspection Life poems are examples of Life poems about Introspection. These are the best examples of Introspection Life poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Questions hang suspended like stalactites
Time, circumstance and elements contributing to its formation
(—then something else seeps in, pushing me to call it fate)
Questions that know not whether they should be voiced out and see light
...or remain hidden in caves, destined to be only heard
by the labyrinthine chambers of the heart
But yes, it is inevitable that these questions d
They drip, bit by bit, oozing with curiosity,
forming more queries, that turn into stalagmites—
Grounded questions to the suspended ones,
open-ended to the closed.
Sometimes meeting, creating columns,
melded complements of each other.
And then this makes me wonder—
When these questions meet,
do they ever find answers within themselves?
Will the truth ever be brave enough to come out of hiding?
This then makes me think of the words within souls,
how these souls are the questions, in search of answers.
...And of how your words, your thoughts, your feelings,
can drip into mine, feeding that inner glow
It then collects, forming this deluge,
flooring me as it creates a bond so powerful,
it seems to defy time and even reason.
A fascinating influx,
that makes me smile despite myself
Where sometimes I don’t know the beginning from the end—
where bliss swims freely there,
immersed in waves of laughter and ripples of tears.
This for me is the beauty of it all,
the search, the mystery...the discovery
That constant ebb and flow,
the give and take,
that push and pull
the flooding and trickling,
that hiding and seeking
Where one listens as the other speaks,
but ah, both feeding off each other—
hungry, thirsty, full, satiated yet craving for more.
It’s something akin to, but not quite to
how sunlight makes way for moon’s glow,
how thunder rolls after the lightning strikes,
coming hand in hand...yet both so defined.
Yes, the questions may still hang like stalactites,
and sometimes I do wonder if they will fall—
And if they do,
will they shatter,
piercing hearts as they do?
Or will their fates let them stay there,
melding with stalagmites,
standing the test of time,
June 17, 2012
If we could peel back the blanket of earth
To expose the bones buried there
Mix them all up in a great big pile
To say they'd all look the same would be fair
The rich man, the poor, the blind and the weak
Each gender, religion and race
The short, the tall, the large and the small
And include every shape of the face
If we had to choose one bone at a time
Not knowing who's bones belonged to whom
To make ourselves over new again
I wonder how well we'd do
Not judging by color, size or shape
Or status of high IQ
The bones might fit together just fine
And stay together till the end of time
I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend
I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies
through speaking my thoughts into existence
I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen
I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry
I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards
I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels
I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent of it
I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM
I am a coward with open sores.
I write and wonder who it bores.
I hear my heart and mind argue repeatedly.
I see others carrying out my dreams;
that’s what’s defeated me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I pretend open doors are closed, and walk the other way.
I touch base with the fear in my heart,
it tears me apart leaving me with nothing to say...
I worry the world will leave me.
I cry because no one believes in me.
I am a coward with open sores.
I understand nothing comes easy.
I say I’m happy, but even I don’t believe me.
I dream I am healed and brave.
I try to overcome my weaknesses before I’m in my grave.
I hope you hear me.
I’m on all fours.
I am a coward with open sores.
* 1st Place in Contest "MARCH MADNESS" Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire on 3/8/2011
* 1st PLACE in Contest "ONE OFF" Sponsored by Brian Strand on 5/11/2011 judged
© 2011 ~JSLaM
What powers held me in this tortured love
Shame and excitement danced around me
Grasped by the cunning illusions, deceiving
My void self image, coercing my
Vanities until I believed the insideous lies
You robbed my soul, knowing
Your presence was sealed with death's kiss
Tossing and turning in the night
I let you back in no matter the cost
Oh, and this is good -
I pretended not to be hostage to your
Cunning facade of empty promises
Even letting you linger in the presence
Of my most cherished posessions
As they also became sick in your stench
Finally, enough denial and nearly destroyed
Still strong enough to rid myself of you
I see you for what you really are, a drag
Killer of desire, coaxing many
Also blinded by your evil
In the last hours of whatever life I have left
And the coffin is near, I'll wonder
Why I let you hold me for so long
r andomly I stare into
e ach reflective surface
f orever pondering the
l ines of age, pain and joy
e ach one a splendid testament
c ulled from a full life
t eased endlessly, eternally
i nto distorted images
o f the soul of me
n ever quite
s urely, I am
n ot this shallow
o nly time can plane my cheek
i nsight my eyes to fade
t urn the plumpness of lip to
c rinkles of mirth
e nlivening the gray
l anguishing in silver
f orever seeing but parts of the
e cstasy I
The scurry and flurry of thoughts
so I seek comfort
in the ebb and flow...
I do not rush and dive in.
I let myself
easing myself carefully into
the saline calm
fingerlings of froth
licking my skin
Only my face,
save for my ears,
greet frigid air
All the rest of me
just wants to
It's not enough
to mute everything
I take that deep breath
and sink myself
The weight of the waves
bearing down on me
to the unruffled depths
I crave for breath
I welcome the cool liquid.
drinking me in
I wallow in it
as it swallows me in
I find out
That all along,
I was inside
March 18, 2012
Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.
Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.
Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.
A whispered voice
on a gentle breeze
hushed by the ripple
of rustling leaves,
The silent spinning
of a mournful tale
inked on a page
soon grows pale,
Desires of hearts
straining the seams
stay tucked away
to cavort in dreams,
All Rights Reserved by Debra Squyres
It seems that all my life I’ve seen some darker times
Now and then the times I knew were more than I could stand.
But, learn we must, from all hard times and soon we come to know
It’s trying times that we go through that makes a boy a man.
When we feel weak at heart and think we’ll never make it
Our spirit strengthens us to somehow carry on.
It’s then we learn that just at midnight things could get no worse
And soon we see the darkness fade and midnight brings the dawn.
Every midnight has a dawning
Every dawning has a day
Where daylight shines on things remembered
And some things lost along the way.
And every passing daylight
Brings evening into play
Where we’ll face another midnight
That brings, yet, one more dawning day.
It seems a pattern thus emerges,
Monotonous as it may seem,
Every midnight brings a dawning,
Filled with all our daylight dreams.
Dreams are meant to bring survival
To those who may have lost their way.
Who found the darkness of the midnight
Kept the dawning light at bay.
So, as near as I can figure,
There’s this we can rely on
However bleak the darkest midnight,
After midnight comes the dawn.
Written by John Posey