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Personification Metaphor Poems | Personification Poems About Metaphor

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

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As father gave the push, my mother whispered, “Fly, my child!”
Resplendent in my feathers, yet was frightened of the wild
unknown for that where I grew up, I had to leave and find
the reason for my wings and claws, and how I can’t be mild. 

The rush of warm wind cushioned me as I took my first flight,
majestic bird who gracefully flew to such soaring heights.
From that day on I fed myself and did my parents proud
for they have taught me not to let the prey escape my sight.

For forty years I roamed the land and soared over the sea,
but then the time had come to make the choice that’s hard for me.
Up on the steepest rocky mount, I went and by my own
removed my brittle beak, talons, and old wings painfully.

Why did I have to go through all the changes and the pain?
Those parts were worn and have become my weakness and my bane.
So now that God has given me another thirty years,
behold me after my rebirth, the eagle soars again! 

*For those who would care to see,this is a 3-min video on the eagle's painful rebirth

Eagles: illumination of spirit, healing, creation, Divine, Spirit (feathers are sacred healing tools)
13 May 2015

Copyright © Kim Patrice Nunez

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The Moon Only Cries

A blazing Sun abruptly appears
Indulged in selfish applause
Heartless to the core, her light declares
She governs the Universe

The Sun gets only a glimpse of the Moon
Jealous of the Stars who pave the night's way
She races to conspire with the Horizon
To keep the Moon at bay

Melancholy is the Moon as night draws near
Chilled with howling cold and fear
Unspoken words hang stiff in the air
Each has felt them like a prayer

The Moon sits in shadows of his own silhouette
To endure thousands of years in silence
Staring through space with hollow eyes
There are no words, the Moon only cries

Karen Anglesey written 03.03.13  Recently published in Best Poets and Poems 2012 by World Poetry Movement, Utah

Copyright © Karen Anglesey

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Moving On

I was sitting on a lonely bench
It was on a hill
Far away from all the cityscreams
And blinding citylights
It was a cloudless night
A soothing breeze came up
As I watched the moon rise slowly
A shimmering moment of
Eternal beauty

There were always less and less stars by her side
Each time I got to see her
The sky felt so empty
Where have they gone?
Maybe they left
Maybe they just moved on
Maybe it was time
Maybe they just moved on

As the moon looked at me
I felt uneasy
I wanted to explain
But before I could open my mouth
I noticed 
She was just staring through me
Like I was nothing at all
I looked at her
What is all the beauty in the world
If you can’t hold it 
Maybe it’s not meant for you to hold
Maybe it’s just meant for you to catch a glimpse
And start hoping
And start dreaming

I raised my head high
Watched the sky
Far above the moon
Maybe I should leave
Maybe I should move on
Maybe it was time
Maybe I should move on

Copyright © Akari Akisame

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Ana pt 1

I met the greatest love of my life when I was the innocent age of sixteen.  She entered it the way mist creeps along the early morning ground after a night’s rain, effortlessly… Without my knowledge, we started to become fast friends. Spending endless days together, learning the curves of each others’ bodies and I of her secret ways. It wasn’t long before the lingering gazes and simple touches had me completely enamored by her and I was wound tight around her thin, cold, and skeletal- like finger. The infatuation grew as I shrunk… 

Endless days turned into endless nights, endless weeks, endless months! We spent every waking moment together, every sleeping.  With her by my side I began to run, miles after miles, to skip meals just to spend time with her.  It wasn’t long before my parents started to worry about that time I spent with my love. The days I spent locked in my room, the obsessive miles and trips to the gym early in the morning and late into the evening until my legs shook and I could barely walk.  They told me she was a bad influence and I thought, “How dare they!? How dare they try to take away the Juliet to my Romeo!?”  Our love was one to rival the ages, so dark, forbidden and intoxicating like the drugs celebrities take just to “kill the pain.”  

By January it was growing unclear where she began and I ended, both intertwined trees stripped bare by the kiss of winter’s icy lips.  God I had never been so in love! Her touch sent shivers down the bones of my spine which threatened to pierce through the worn thin skin of my back. Those hallowed eyes of hers sent flutters of starved, butterflies into a dizzied frenzy in the sunken in cave that once was my stomach. I had never felt so alive….

Copyright © Mika Mulkey

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Ana pt 2

Our love continued to grow as the warm gaze of summer came forth, shinning light on the skeletons we’d became, bodies ravaged from the merciless vulture that was and is the winter.  No rays from the sunlight, so brilliant they hurt my eyes, could provide the warmth her love provided.  The bones that tried to cut through my skin were the love-marks of our late night romps, the constant light-headedness I took for euphoric ecstasy, was really my body dying.

In the dawning light of the summer…I began to see what I had become.  What both she and I had done. I was no longer a girl, I was no longer a human being. I was a breath of bones, so thin you had to squint one eye and shut the other to notice me. “What have I done?” I screamed to myself as I stared at what use to be a body in the length of a one-way mirror. She came to me then, tried to tempt me back into her arms, but I no longer saw the beauty in her skeletal form. I could only see how her love had raped and pillaged me.  And so I turned her away and said goodbye…

Copyright © Mika Mulkey

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'Little Sparrow'

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”—Psalm 34:18 New International Version (NIV)

Little sparrow, what troubles thee;
      is it the stigma you face?
Little sparrow, what pierces thee;
      is it the shame of disgrace?

Is it the brokenness in your heart, 
     or the sorrows you can't outlive?
Is it the anguish that sets you apart, 
     or the hurt that holds you captive? 

What befalls you 
      is neither unfelt nor unknown;
God cares and calls you
      when you're cast out and all alone. 

God will never forsake you
     in your time of need;
God will never permit you
     to suffer or bleed.

02/19/2014; for "TO HEAL A HEART" Contest


Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen

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Chicken Slam

They want my thighs/ 
So smooth and innocent feathers flying across broken brunches of skeletons/ 
They want my rhymes/ 
This is no poultry for poetry/ 
My poetry is no coward type chicken/
My words are salty/  

I’m a bird i fly on top of state’s real brains/ 
Consuming meat and eggs of past fellow cowards/  
Omnivores lines/ 
These earth i scratch with my mouth/ 
Is a prostitute/
Tougher than concrete lines/
These earth i scratch with my mouth/ 
Is everyone's Present Day Hell 
Serving tissues/
My thoughts are concrete tears like rebels/

scratch and sing mirrored messages in flocks/ 
This pictures are born from chests incubated second hand writings/  

Smell my symptoms/
Stainless inks/ 
Blinking one eye ink/ 
Eyes wide open never see compost in words/
Aimed at fertilizing unattractively skinnny promises/

O gosh Chickens/

Shoes of chicken view touch souls with my hand clues/
Cowards spray away chicken slams/

They want my thighs/
In holidays they slaughter families born in days of slavery/
They want my rhymes/ 
They want my thighs/
(c) Ray

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane

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Reflections of a Mirror

Reflections of a Mirror

You examine me as if 
I am an answer-
As if I am the answer.
You search the reflection
Of your own eyes as if
They can tell you more
Than I already have-
But the answer 
Is always the same
As the question;
I'm only repeating back
What you've already
Told me-
I am only the echo
Of your own
Mirror image...
You look at me and see
If you can't defeat
The compulsion to call me
A liar, then at least
Fight against the impulse
To break me under 
Your fist-
I can not fix you
Or myself,
So try to resist the 
Urge to scream at me
When I can't tell you
What you want to know-
Are you trying to
Test some misguided
Hypothesis that if you 
Show me 
Enough of your soul,
I will crack into 
A reflection of
Your heart?-
Is that why you
Let me see you
When you are too
Ashamed to lift
Your face to meet
The gaze of 
Anyone else?
I have seen you
On every sleepy morning
That came to soon,
And every Friday night
That couldn't have
Come soon enough...
I have seen you
On nights when
You are lonely enough
To look at me and 
Pretend that the face
You see behind the glass
Belongs to another 
Human being-
I have seen
Your tears falling thick
Until the surface of 
My glass and your cheek
Are like synchronized
Window panes pondering
Every hesitant smile that you
You have tried on for size,
Before asking me
What I think...
But I am not an answer...
Only a mirror.

Copyright © Cameron Hartley

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UNDER THIS RED UMBRELLA The rain did not stop us romantically. Our love was to be enjoyed. Life span was our imagery. We are young adults in love. We walked in an embrace. We talked about family and friends. We were unity of togetherness in this scene. I looked away shortly and saw others doing the same. That momentary endeavor drew his attention as well. He leaned forward with protection so that I would not get wet. This red umbrella glisten from the night lights as we stroll through the park. The tree leaves were wet; this was autumn. Good spirits were in optimistic to longevity. The red umbrella reflects the leaves of the trees as it does my man’s adoration of me. Under this red umbrella are images of love! _____________________________________| User Name: Verlena S. Walker – Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine Sponsor: Leonora Galinta Personification of Lovers done for Poem with a theme of "Umbrella" Free Poetry Contest Entry Date: March 22, 2014

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

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Copyright © Ifeanyi Bob Ekechukwu

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Treasure of My Heart

Yamaha impressed me the first time I laid eyes on her glistening blond maple wood, her stylish body details, her long fretted mother-of-pearl inlay; lobed with golden keys. Her voice called to me the first time I held her in my arms. I strummed her six strings slowly in the key of G, then moved softly to D and C. All the while, I searched earnestly for her purity in sound quality and style. She was not the most beautiful in the showroom. But oh yes! She did flatter me with her musical presence. She was beautiful to me! I knew from that moment on she would be mine for eternity. 

Within the hour, I took her home to meet the family. She was shy on the journey, not making a sound; perhaps due to this being her first automobile ride or simply wanting to see a world she was now a part of. Yamaha was cased in alligator leather, a brown dressing which was stylish for the day. We were both nervous as we arrived and got out of the car. My strong caressing grip on her handle assured her she wouldn’t fall and it would be alright. She knew it would be alright as I smiled at her. 

I opened the door, allowing her to enter first. When in the living room, I called to everyone to come meet the newest member of the family. Dad was taken by her simple yet elegant beauty and style. Mom touched her first and she was most pleased. At that moment I realized the importance of first impressions as Mom marveled at how pretty she was. I sat down in the best chair in the living room while Mom listed to Yamaha talk and I sang a popular country love song.  I was pleased with the family acquaintance to Yamaha. It was evident she had become a part of the family.

 The first few weeks, I couldn’t keep Yamaha out of my arms. I longed to be with her every minute of the day. In my eye, she made me smile by just gazing upon her. I fumbled with her in those beginning days. She ignored my elementary attempts at refinery and permitted me the time to catch up to her mastery rather than bow down to my level. Like any two lovers, both must reach to the need of the other. Only then is love truly in harmony. 

Today, Yamaha is not the young glistening blond I held in my arms some thirty years removed. Her wood has been scared by my love to play her. She has received countless face lifts which cover her tainted mother-of-pearl. Her brown leather case dress stands in need of a seamstress care. But as with all things having been learned through love, we now make beautiful music together. She is my treasure, a light into my soul's well. She amplifies my inner being. As I perform, she is glorified. We have grown old together,and gotten better in time. I still hold her in my arms day by day as this lover has risen to her grace and expectations. She is my treasure for a life time.

Copyright © Mark Goodson

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Sun Kissed by YOU

                        Daily I’m sun kissed
             Burned by the warmth of your lips,
                      for YOU are the sun

                   Eileen Manassian Ghali

Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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Chopped II - Moth-winged Minuet

Moth-winged Minuet

Closing my eyes I flew
from lonely chair
through open window
in mesmerized anticipation.
Drawn toward the glowing
warmth of the porch light.
Flames torched my heart
as another circled.
The crickets kept time
as we danced
a moth-winged minuet
of transparent melancholy.

submitted to Craig Cornish – Chopped II – Poetry Contest

Copyright © John lawless

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What is Sensuality

It is a look….unhidden 
A touch…..unbidden 
It is desire…unveiled
Love and lust…exhaled
It is fantasy….released

It is passion…unbound
It is wishes….unashamed
Primal needs…untamed 

Sensuality is supreme
The climax of a dream
The voice of arousal’s soul
The entwining that makes whole
The forever in the here
Exhibition without fear

Sensuality’s sultry kiss
Sexy Siren’s seductive bliss
All this and so much more
Is what lies for you in store

Then, what is sensuality?
Why, that is me!

It's when my smile alludes
and what my sway exudes
It's why my touch excites
and how my kiss ignites

It's when my voice enthralls
and how my body calls
It's what my lips evoke
and how my hips provoke

I'm seductive and demure
of victory I am sure
Sensuality is my name
To dominate is my game

Sensuality, is all me
Taste, and I'll set you free


Copyright © Eileen Manassian

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Metaphor of fraud

Metaphor of fraud


In the road of loneliness I remake my morning prayers
Yellowed silence buries last memories

Autumn and curtain above my book are broken
Yearly rain writes an anonymous journal

There are no words between metaphors of tears
I bite darkness, fonts and white letter

Due to the rust of time the promise digests
In the corners of ignorance a broken violin hushes

Char lips I begin the ballad of fraud
A frozen key cannot reopen any door anymore

The same you walk and smash, the same you wake up, 
the same you raise and fall,
Lie and cry or be quiet, but kiss the mornings in the heart

Copyright © bekim tocani

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Sleeping dragon through the Dark Ages,
Coldblooded and unfeeling wraith,
It awoke and consumed the human race,
Entering every aspect of their lives.
Nothing can destroy this beast of knowledge
Except an Apocalypse.

Copyright © Tara Andre

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Tomorrow seems so far away
Today refuses to stay
Tomorrow feels gay
Today lingers in gray 
Tomorrow has all the games to play
Today keeps going astray
Tomorrow is an innocent day 
Today is tainted by today and past days
Tomorrow never stops dreaming of stars
Today is covered in scars
Tomorrow has new hope to offer
Today can't get anything in order
Tomorrow's melody is softer
Today's roughness needs a softener
Tomorrow seems so far away
Today is tomorrow's stairway, a promising essay

Copyright © njeri hunjeri

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Humble Words

thoughts of crowing joy
 in body the soul, 
but wait there's more... 
pasting of measure, feet taping, 
but yet sapping, on the 
there of sapping, hungry of just not knowing
that is the word of being humble...
the mystery of blending the
squrriel nut tree at the 
top of the fountain as 
thought it may seem, 
of resureing 
that living has fall within
my thought to know to be humble...
words to be humble

Copyright © Louis Borgo

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My deer

Wish to be like the trees;
Only to feel the breeze
And to taste the dewdrops on my leaves.
Wish to see the sky over me
And to feel that there is nothing out of reach
Wish to feel the waves of the sea
Hitting me on the beach.
To my surprise, when woods I pass
I saw a deer running from the mass,
I hate the scene of the hunter coming,
I hate to see her running and running.
But the bravery appeared
When-with her antlers-she beard
But my legs couldn't stand
Watching her bleed on land.
I thought it is done
That she will never see the sun.
A fantasy I ruminate!
She stood again and I meditate.
She was wounded I can deem
But- with her agile body- she redeem'd
Then..I wish my heart was the deer
That could be hurt but without blear
That could be wounded but stand on his knees,
And never fall apart because any of these
I wish my heart was brave;
To face his scars with faith.
Then my deer will be strong
To  brood fears all day long.

Copyright © Sandy Tadros

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missing my metaphor

her joints, 
creaking plank wood,
shellacked, splintered,
sargasso sickly sweetened
blue crab scuttled,
lips both
brown foam'd,
tidal moaning,
her boardwalk secrets
her beach head,
sand dollars,
sand bars exposed,
gulls cry 
for clamshells
my bucket 
never full,
those swelling
leave me
only salt streak'd
board shorts,
rough glass
foot cuts,
rip current-ed,

Copyright © Andrew Foreman

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If you leave, the island
Rests a sad face on its paws
And longs for your return,
Harkening for the oar-splash
Of your approaching boat.

If you never return,
It remembers your face
All  life  long.


Historical Note

Mutineers on the BOUNTY  had to leave the island and never return, but it stayed in their consciousness forever.

Copyright © Sidney Beck

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Apogee Ae

Zenith of mount
Apex of all
No peak to high
No aim too tall
He reaches, he strains;
He wears himself thin. 
He toils, he strives; 
His drive to be perfection's kin. 

O mighty indeed
But the goal causes fall. 
Prodigious intellect 
But not wisdom for one, save all. 
He hath tried and hath fought for
What he still wills to attain. 
"Eminence" and "Pinnacle";
"Crown of Man" the title he wishes to claim. 

But how you have strayed!
The world watches and waits. 
Sneering and jeering
As languishes one who was great. 
To be escalated and elevated
Indeed he did intend,
Instead stumbled and staggered 
And only did he descend. 

Shadow of self
Shell of past
A look none will give
To him a glance none will cast. 
"Dunderhead" and "Derelict";
"Schlemiel" is his name. 
Ne'er to be remembered
Is his former fame. 

There are few who know
Fewer who understand
But should you be aware
You would weep o'er this man. 
Power, glory, and strength
Were to be his right hand
But dishonor, poverty, and disgrace
Are now the garland upon his head. 

Copyright © Jonathan J.

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Prism's Hue

I the stained glass panel
Impeccable by craftful hand
Adorned with the color of rainbow
Stand tall but unviewed
You my dear are like the sunlight rays
The starlight's twinkle
You are like the moonlight beams
You shine through my hue
Prisming my heart’s colors to illumination 
Touching off Opalescent glass seen by all
For my soul now engulfed by thy beauty 
Made perfect with thy light
Viewed by all

Copyright © Mark Goodson

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I am a cheap pen, living
In your pencil box, which you keep unlocked
So that someone steals, cause a new one rocks
I have been, used to write letters that you didn’t mean
Your ignorance is not a hidden thing
Call me a link/linc between God and human beings
As I write lies, which are truly seen/sin
As truth, I put dots on a paper
Still you love the costly pens,
You honor them as your savior
Clever, the way you favour
The one with a branded name on it, remember
When you bought a new one from open market
By exchange of words, I was, brokenhearted
Day by day it turned out to be a growing burden
Knowing I am unwanted
Throwing up on a book, I vomit, ink comes out
Before he died, did Lincoln shout?
 No he died, with a dream living in the pocket of his coat
A pen to represent him, present in presidential quote
So I write, knowing that no one will go through my note
My paper floats like a boat, frightened boat
On my tears, all these years, all of this enlightened road
Full of water and mud, what else you want?
Will write till my ink dries and nibs get blunt
But someone takes credit of what I write, I am not a born fighter
I am a mechanical ghostwriter
I could, make the world look, more brighter

Copyright © Soumyadeep Kanji

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Butterfly whisper

A butterfly flutters In harmonious motion In hush tones It whispers Yarning the secret In mellow lures With glistering gestures A tinge of speckles A lasting fluence

Copyright © njeri hunjeri

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The Last Symphony

The musical hall was filled with whines;
Of the melancholy melody and spontaneous art. 
And the maestro's eyes were moving between the lines
Waiting to reach his favorite part.
I was now on stage!
Blown away by the appealing scene,
It felt like a picture in a story's page:
Neon lights and people's mien.
And among the audience: 
I read the expression of the crippled soul,
And that of the afflicted heart.
Recognized that look of having a set goal
And those looks of desire to-from the beginning- start.
I am the broken violin,
Owned by the best musician in town
At me-he always liked to grin
saying that I never let him down.
I long for the touch of his bow on my strings..
But I am growing too frail to compete.
I have lost the ability to- with the melody- spread my wings,
Vapid I became, my taste; bittersweet.
My strings will be amputated soon,
And no healing process can revive my damaged harmony
I will be among the ruins, letting out no tune
So today, i will play my last symphony.

Copyright © Sandy Tadros

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Your Days Are Numbered

Slowly crawling along searching for life's sustenance no sense of urgency no sense of future Only living for today leaving tomorrow's where they lie basking in the heat of the sun flapping your little effervescent wings taking you where ever you want to go Beware little friend when the cold winds blow and the sun slips farther away movements will become more difficult life will come to a crawl no longer able to fly we'll be frozen in time

Copyright © Tim Smith

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Fortune Told Fortune

Maxi the Priest
lived a fairytale,
telling fortunes day and night;
he dwelled upon his only riches
of silver coins.

Maxi never counted a coin,
to continue his fortune telling's,
his next fortune telling
he thought:
would be for a rich woman fortune teller.

"I know how much money you have,"
said Maxi, to the disguise
he thought to be a female fortune teller,
no reply was given.

"I touched your hand,"
said he to the disguise,
no reply was given.

Maxi walked away,
when a voice said;
"Your only riches are silver coins."

"You are not a female," 
said Maxi, "And if I was a real fortune teller,
"I would have known you are not a female."

The male fortune teller in disguise replied:
"If I was a real fortune teller,
"I would have known
you are not a real fortune teller,"
"I'm penniless."

"I'm counting my coins,"
said Maxi,"I don't have many.

Copyright © Amy Walker

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Colorized photo


a black and white 

and settled place...

The sea was used to white

and so was

the fair sand.

The sky, though, fell in love.

Suddenly, it was blue,

and it loved the sea

as blue as itself

and the grumbling, rippling sand.

Copyright © Julia Ward

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My Aphrodite

Laying next to you by this rushing bayou I marvel in awe of  you a miracle I cant 
live without you. Graciously your beauty lifts me unforgiven your kisses breath life 
into me. No vivid metaphor of love can describe you dynamic and tremendous I'm 
unworthy of you. Harmonized forever I stand by you embrace me immaculate 
angel there is no where I'd rather be then here with you loving me.

Copyright © Cole Beck